


Too Good (At Goodbyes)

by megamazing



Series: Telltale Signs [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blowjobs, Bruce Has Issues, Bruce Needs a Hug, Clark Needs to Use His Words, Denial of Feelings, Diana and Selina are the smartest people here, Lying for the Greater Good, M/M, Smut, alternating pov, blink and you miss it hal/barry, but is it really tho, egregious use of the fifth dimension, fluff is here too i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamazing/pseuds/megamazing
Summary: It’s like the feeling of knowing a crash is coming, but hesitating until it’s too late to prevent the collateral damage. It’s love and lust, and the lies Bruce told that confused the two.And it’s the worst kept secret in the history of super-heroism, probably.aka: the one where poor communication (and stubbornness) bites them in the ass, without mercy.





	1. Nervous Energy

**Author's Note:**

> So. Hi! It’s been well over a year out here in the real world since I posted Part 1, but mere weeks in terms of the continuity of these fics. “Whoops” is an understatement.
> 
> I’m not sure what the upload schedule will be as of now (hoping for weekly). Unlike last time, I don’t have a complete draft finished and ready to be edited chapter by chapter for posting. I have the story mostly done, but there are a few spots in between that I skipped over after a sentence of setting the scene, telling myself I’d finish it later. Now, that strategy is sorta biting me in the ass because, naturally, the parts that were harder for me to write are what I have left. But this first chapter is done and I’m just too excited about it to wait, so it is what it is, my friends.
> 
> They also have sex this time around, on page, hence the E rating. Yay!
> 
> Let me know either here or on my tumblr, linked at the end, if you spot any errors/mistakes!

“When there is nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire”

\- Opening audio clip to “Your Ex-Lover Is Dead” by Stars

 

BRUCE

He was going on a date. A date with Superman. Clark Kent. _Clark_.

Bruce’s chest contracted painfully for the fiftieth time that day from both the heart-racing fear of ruining this – whatever it was that he and Clark were doing – and from the sheer amount of excitement he felt at even the idea of…a date.

It was safe to say he’d lost all sense of rationality by noon. Or at the very least, he’d regressed a solid fifteen years in maturity. It was embarrassing.

Being Bruce Wayne, the world-renowned billionaire playboy, saying that he was good at the dating game was an understatement. He’d had dating down to an exact science by the time he was twenty. Back then, Alfred liked to joke that it was Bruce’s one non-violet form of artistry, completely unrelated to crime and punishment. The saddest part, as Dick had once pointed out, was that Alfred’s joke wasn’t even always true.

Bruce knew all the best places in Gotham, the ones that would elicit whichever emotion he wanted his date to achieve: joy, wonder, lust, excitement…mostly for the benefit of the cameras. But none of those places would do because this time it was Clark he was taking out, not Brucie’s flavor of the week.

He remembered the moment Clark had said yes with a horrifying level of clarity. Bruce had suggested going on a date over the phone only because Bruce was in Gotham and Clark, Metropolis – certainly not been because Bruce had been nervous about it. He didn’t _do_ nervous.

—ONE WEEK AGO—

“Bruce?” Clark answered, sounding adorably surprised. Bruce was allowed to think those kinds of thoughts now, namely that Clark was adorable, and it was as terrifying as it was comforting.

He had almost hung up the phone right then and there – maybe even made some quick excuse about an emergency that needed his immediate attention – but he tightened his grip on the phone. _Suck it up, Wayne._ “Clark. Are you busy?”

Bruce heard the shuffling of papers and a mumbled apology – for Lois, he assumed – before Clark replied again. “I have a few minutes to spare, is something wrong?”

Of course that would be the first thing Clark asked. Why else would Bruce be calling him in the middle of the day, while they were both supposed to be working?

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

Clark seemed to pause. “Alright…so, what’s up?” He sounded suspicious now, and Bruce shut his eyes, stifling a sigh. This wasn’t starting off as well as he had planned. Thank any god listening in that there were miles and miles between them.

Better to just rip it off. Like a Band-aid. One, two… “Do you have plans next Friday night?”

“Plans? No, no plans here. I’m completely free! Free as a bird.” Bruce rolled his eyes at Clark’s rambling. But maybe Clark was nervous too, and wasn’t that something?

“Would you be opposed to changing that?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Bruce?” Clark asked slowly, teasing him, and Bruce could hear Clark's damn smile through the phone. Luckily, Bruce was alone in his office so no one was around to see the mirroring smile spreading across his own face.

“Maybe. Yes.”

“Then yes,” Clark answered, laughing under his breath. If it had been anyone else doing the laughing, Bruce might have shut the whole thing down right then and there. But with Clark…well. Again, no one was there to call Bruce out on the way it made him smile. “Name a time and place, and I’ll be there.”

—PRESENT—

And now Bruce was standing in front of his floor length mirror, debating back and forth with himself over whether the red Italo Ferretti bow-tie would look better than the more subdued navy Charvet, or if he should go bolder still and side with the patterned McQueen.

Then, after far too much time, Alfred came in and ended the debate in one. “I was not aware that Master Clark had such a keen interest in fashion.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “That’s not the point, Alfred.”

“Isn’t it, sir? I’ve never known you to deliberate so long on neckwear in all your years. In fact, I seem to distinctly recall you shouting, _choose whatever you think is best, Alfred, so long as it dazzles_ , on multiple occasions.”

Bruce turned to glare at the man, who in turn raised a brow at him but kept his expression utterly neutral otherwise. Alfred was right, and they both knew it. Bruce huffed one more time for good measure and then tossed the ties onto the bed, waving them away.

“Dick’s graduation,” he rebutted, not sulking in the slightest.

“Ah, yes,” Alfred conceded. “But even that debacle did not take so long as this one has.”

That ceremony had marked a turning in Dick and Bruce’s reconciliation. At the very least, by then they had stopped glaring at each other from across the room. Clark had been there too, though he hadn’t come with Bruce. He’d been “reporting”, which was a poor guise for wanting to support Dick, but somehow, he’d gotten away with it. Bruce was still unsure as to how Clark pulled that one off with Perry White, considering it had absolutely nothing at all to do with Metropolis, nor did it hold anything significant that Daily Planet readers would care about.

“Are you hoping I’ll start taking more of an interest in fashion, Alfred? You know I wouldn’t take away a chance for you to be creative.”

“It’s not an interest in _fashion_ I’m hoping for, sir.”

“ _Which tie_ ,” Bruce asked through his teeth. He did not want to have this conversation with Alfred today. Or ever.

“The Burberry. Shall I expect a third seat for breakfast in the morning?” Alfred continued, all too casually, not to be deterred.

Oh, _hell_. If a wormhole opened up under Bruce and swallowed him whole right then and there, he didn’t think he’d be too upset about it. He might even thank it.

“The Burberry? What was wrong with the others?” Bruce asked, just as his Justice League communicator buzzed from its resting place on the armoire. He quickly tucked it into his ear. “And no to the third seat. Possibly. I don’t know,” he added quickly before answering the call with a short, “Batman.”

Alfred was smirking (which for him was just the slightest upturn of the left corner of his lips) as Barry’s voice chimed in from the comm.

“Bats, we have a situation brewing on the east coast. I’m sending you coordinates and details now.” Bruce grunted in frustration, which was normal enough for him that Barry didn’t question it, only taking it as affirmation. “Great! Flash, out.”

“Trouble, sir?” Alfred asked, already set to tidying up the mess Bruce had made of his closet.

“Yes. It appears that breakfast will have to be rescheduled after all.”

He only realized his mistake when he saw the twinkle in Alfred’s eyes.

“Of course, sir,” Alfred answered calmly. “The Batwing has just been cleaned, so do try not to muck it up too much. I fear Master Tim may combust at the mere suggestion of wing grease.”

“I’ll do my best, as always,” Bruce called out on his way down, his smile drowned out by the irony of it all. Of course, someone or something would launch an attack today. Of _fucking_ course.

\----

CLARK

“Wonder Woman! On your left!” Clark shouted across the battlefield otherwise known as Boston Harbor.

She deftly spun around, snaring a harpoon around the neck and flinging it and its owner back into the water. “Flash,” Diana called out, “the spear!”

“On it!” Barry responded. “Bats, how’s the pier holding up?”

“You have two minutes to get across, I can hold it until then,” Bruce grunted out over the comm link in between takedowns of Black Manta’s henchmen. Clark spared him one quick glance, then his focus went back to Arthur, whose every muscle was coiled in rage.

“Get me to his ship,” Arthur growled out, smearing blood as he wiped the sweat from his face.

“You won’t have long,” Clark reminded him as he lifted them both into the air and toward the massive black submarine, half submerged in electrified waters.

“I don’t need long. Batman has taken care of most of the pylons, and once Flash gets that spear back, we’ll just have _him_ and whatever he’s got in that ship powering all of this.”

“I won’t be back anytime soon,” Clark reminded him. “Turn that thing off or you’ll fry as soon as you hit the water.”

Arthur jerked his head in conformation, then shouted, “Now!”, as Clark lined him up, and let him fall – the man slamming down with a _clang_ on the slick surface of the sub.

“Superman, they’re heading west, toward the beach,” Diana informed him quickly over the comm.

Clark groaned, zooming over to deal with yet more of Manta’s army storming the beach. He would _never_ understand why the civilians thought it would be a good idea to stand around and watch in situations like this, and yet there they were, running in terror as Clark slammed down, blocking a ray from hitting a woman with a camera.

“You seem tense,” Diana called out as she snared a few of the goons with her lasso.

“Black Manta’s going to sink Boston just to get at that spear,” he reminded her. If he was a little tense, it was clearly well warranted.

“As if the Injustice League hasn’t tried worse in the past,” Diana quipped. “Are you sure it isn’t something of a more personal nature on your mind?”

Clark accidently bit his tongue as he lifted a couple up and away a safe enough distance on the street above. “Stay clear of the area. The Justice League has this under control,” he told them calmly, using his most reassuring Superman voice.

It wasn’t so much that Diana was _wrong_ , but he couldn’t tell her that. He and Bruce hadn’t discussed whether they were going to be open about their dating each other yet. If dating was what they were calling it. A tiny thrill ran through him that had absolutely nothing to do with the fighting on the beach.

Although, blowing up one of their machines with a bright blast of his heat vision _did_ feel good.

When he’d gotten the summons from Barry over an hour ago, he knew he shouldn’t have been too surprised; but he had just barely managed to get both Kara and Connor to cover Metropolis tonight, just in case, and it was impossible not to feel a little disappointed that it had been for nothing. He also felt bad for Bruce, because the man had apparently gone to a little more trouble than he should have in setting up something for them tonight.

Not that Clark was all that upset about no longer having to wear anything fancy. Rao knew Bruce hated everything in Clark’s wardrobe anyway.

Clark was still holding out hope for a little time to themselves after this was dealt with, though. That was so long as; Arthur managed to get to Manta in time, Barry managed to whisk away the spear, and Clark could get out of helping with the cleanup. Bruce, for his part, never bothered with that part of hero business. He always said, “ _you all have powers, use them_ ”, so hopefully Bruce would be free regardless of the cleanup detail, and they could go off and maybe grab a coffee…were coffee places open at night? It was evening already, and by the time they were done it would be truly dark out.

Not that any of that should have been on Clark’s mind mid-battle.

“Got the spear!” Flash announced brightly, zipping over to Clark and Diana.

Kyle Rayner floated down to their level when he saw Barry returning. “Oh great, he’s monologue-ing,” Kyle stage-whispered to Barry.

Clark frowned at them, throwing out his fist in time for it to collide with the face mask of a charging henchman. “I wasn’t even speaking!”

Barry idly twirled the extremely volatile weapon of mass destruction around with one hand. “Ah, but you’ve got that face that tells us you’re thinking to yourself a little too hard. A clear inner-monologuing. D’ knows what Kyle’s saying, and she agrees.”

Diana was, in fact, fighting off some sort of tentacle coming up from the ocean. The poor creature was probably agitated with all the electricity in the water. It was a wonder that the thing was still moving at all, to be honest. All the smaller marine life had died almost instantly, much to Arthur’s fury and devastation.

“I do!” Diana affirmed, listening in on their conversation through the comm.

Clark rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t _monologuing_ ,” he muttered, and then cleared his throat. “Good work with the spear, Flash. Doesn’t look like Aquaman’s cleared the water yet, though.”

Barry grinned. “I can make it.”

“Flash, the water is electrified.”

The speedster waved Clark’s concern away. “Running on water is child’s play. This will only make it more interesting.”

“Then cut the chatter and get it done!” Batman ordered. Clark looked up and found him standing on top of one of the disabled pylons, taking out his opponents from above.

Flash winked at Clark one last time, then took off in the opposite direction to get a running start before darting across the water. Clark was probably the only one that heard Barry’s initial cry of pain, and he winced, hating this part of their job. But they were heroes, and sometimes that required sacrifice.

Hopefully it wouldn’t take too much longer.

\----

It did take longer.

Much longer – as the mutual anger and hatred between Manta and Arthur came to a boiling point. There was a sudden explosion from the sub that sent debris rocketing out toward the city, and it was Zatana that protected the civilians using her magic, while Kyle did what he could to spare the buildings. However, that meant that the wreckage was confined to the beach and the pier. Rather, what was left of the pier.

Clark couldn’t bring himself to attempt a graceful bowing out of the clean up as Flash began the tedious task of gathering it all. Diana and Zatana took care of taking in the henchman with Kyle’s support, and Arthur had Manta. Bruce had stayed behind, too, something that was surprising to Clark and Diana, but completely shocked the rest. Clark tried not to look to much into that, but he didn't do the best job of it. He found himself glancing Bruce's way more often than could be called casual, and he knew he'd even less subtle than he thought when he last looked over to see Bruce rolling his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation. It wasn't exactly something that should have made Clark smile, and yet there was a smile already spreading across his face.

Flash clapped dust from his hands with a sigh as they finished. “I was supposed to catch up on Netflix with Iris tonight, and I just _know_ she went ahead without me, the cheat. See you two bright and early tomorrow!”

Clark laughed and gave him a lazy salute as Barry shot off toward home. “Try not to run late!”

He could practically feel Bruce rolling his eyes at that one. “You need knew jokes,” Bruce said dryly.

Clark sighed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, maybe. What time is it?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

And Bruce answered, despite also knowing that Clark knew perfectly well what time it was, “Quarter to one in the morning.”

“Well, that’s a great time for diner food, if you’re hungry,” Clark tried.

Bruce just stared at him blankly for a moment, and then Clark saw the hint of a smirk on his lips, a sure sign Bruce was holding back laughter. “I’ll need to change. Somehow, I doubt Boston diner patrons would be accustomed to this much Kevlar.”

“Who knows, I hear bats are back in vogue.” Clark grinned at Bruce’s scowl, then quick-changed into his civilian clothes right there on the beach, in the blink of an eye. “Don’t worry, I can wait.”

Bruce gave him a withering look, but the way he rolled his eyes and shook his head at Clark’s antics were enough to tell Clark that Bruce found it endearing. Or something along those lines – maybe Clark was stretching it just a bit.

While Bruce changed inside his jet, Clark absolutely _did not_ look.

“Playing peeping Tom, Clark?” Bruce teased, adjusting the cuffs of a perfectly pressed shirt as he exited the plane. Well. That was absolutely not a turn on.

 _Liar_.

“No! I’m offended at the suggestion,” Clark sniffed.

Bruce just shrugged. “You could have,” he said lightly, taking the lead as he started toward the city.

Clark was still standing there open mouthed as the Batwing took off back to Gotham, remotely. “You can’t just say things like that,” he accused as he rushed to catch up after snapping his mouth closed.

Bruce smirked. “And miss the chance to appreciate the dumbfounded look on your face? I don’t think so.”

\----

BRUCE

They chose the first diner they came across, thanks to Clark’s keen sense for finding the only place in the vicinity serving hash browns past one o’clock in the morning. Bruce was nearly too tired and worn out to care where they were, not that he’d ever let that show. His muscles were still loose and his wounds had yet to being aching, so he was as close to relaxed as he ever was.

That was the only explanation he had for why he didn’t bat an eyelash at the way Clark held open the door for him as they entered, or the way he didn’t mock Clark for smiling unabashedly as Bruce ordered for them and remembered the way Clark liked his eggs. He still wasn’t sure _why_ the fact that he remembered Clark’s preferred form of eggs was so surprising, seeing as how when it came to Clark, Bruce absorbed every detail, and always had.

“Careful, Bruce,” Clark teased with a sly grin, “if you keep smiling like that people might get the wrong impression – that there’s a heart buried underneath all that snark and scowl.”

Had he been smiling, too? Damn.

Bruce sniffed and covered his mouth by taking a sip of the sludge the diner called coffee. Clark let out a laugh under his breath, and Bruce rolled his eyes. There was a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but he let it sit in favor of lowering the mug and letting the smile stay put. Even if it was more of a smirk than a smile, it was still clearly enough to catch Clark off guard.

“What?” Bruce asked innocently, batting his lashes. “The coffee is just that good.”

“You were giving it the evil eye not two seconds ago,” Clark said, calling him out as he leaned back in the booth, looking smug again. It was a good look on him, Bruce thought. “I guess you’re not the only ace detective in the room, huh?”

Bruce scoffed, but it came out sounding more like a laugh. “Well then, detective, deduce my motives.”

There was no such thing as preparing oneself for the feeling of being studied by Clark Kent. Not Clark the bumbling reporter, or even the caped savior of Metropolis, but the Clark that lived in between. Having _that_ Clark’s attention focused solely on him…it had a worrying kind of addiction to it. One that Bruce was as possessive of as he was afraid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that was not a good sign, but he was indulging tonight and so he pushed it to the side. Just for tonight.

Suddenly Clark was straightening his posture and clearing his throat, shifting about his booth in a way that looked anything but comfortable. “Maybe I’m not as good of a detective as all that.”

Bruce frowned, sure he had missed something. The waitress came by and brought out their food, a full American breakfast for Clark and burger for Bruce. Clark was still fidgeting.

“Everything alright?”

Clarks eyes blinked back up to Bruce’s. “Of course.”

There was an unexpected tension between them in the moment when Clark looked away, and any other night Bruce would have settled in and let it hang in the air. But in that moment, he found himself with the strange desire to pull back the relaxed mood they had not five second before. Villains might have waylaid his original plans for the night, but he was with Clark, and damn him if he was going to let that slip through his fingers, too.

So, in a very unlike Bruce Wayne move (but very much like the Bruce no one ever saw, the Bruce buried under the weight of the hand he’d been dealt and the choices he’d made), he took a French fry, scooped up a dollop of ketchup, and flicked the stuff directly onto the tip of Clark’s nose.

Clark jerked back in surprise, blinking rapidly, his mouth popping open adorably. “W-what? Did you just flick ketchup at me?”

Bruce sipped his coffee, the very picture of calm indifference, and tilted his head with a little shrug. Clark must have seen the barely-contained laughter in Bruce’s eyes, though, because then Clark was grinning and shaking his head.

“Oh no,” Clark warned, wiping the ketchup from his nose. He had that mischievous glint to his eyes and Bruce couldn’t be bothered to try and disguise his smirk after that. “You don’t want to start this game with me, Bruce.”

“Huh,” Bruce murmured. He looked over his shoulder to see what the waitress was up to – bent over the counter, scrolling through a social media feed on her phone – and sent another wad of ketchup flying toward Clark’s hairline. “What was that about losing?”

“You’re a dead man.”

That was how Bruce ended up with jelly stains on the collar of his shirt and the greasy residue from a chunk of sausage on his sleeve, which he’d just barely blocked from hitting him square in the face.

The waitress came by shortly after, apparently not as oblivious as Bruce had assumed, and was squinting at the bit ketchup Clark had missed when quickly wiping his face to preserve some dignity. “Um, cute as this is, I think you too should pay your bill and get going…”

The look of confusion and mild disgust on her face didn’t sour Bruce’s mood in the slightest. He turned to her with the full force of a Brucie smile, maybe with an added, unnecessary hint of intensity, and watched her take a half-step back, eyes flicking around as she flustered. “That’s a fine idea, miss,” he said, voice low and just a few inches from seductive. “Terribly sorry to have caused any unnecessary distress.” Eyes still focused on the waitress, he pulled out his wallet and stood swiftly.

Bruce drew out a few bills, not bothering to check their value, and handed them to her. She gaped, mouth opening and closing without sound, not unlike some of the fish he’d seen flopping in the sand a few hours ago.

Clark stood, noticeably less graceful as his knees banged against the table in his rush. “Apologies, ma’am. We’ll be leaving, now.”

The moment they were out in the cool night air, Clark burst out into uproarious fits of laughter that were impossibly contagious. It had the two of them leaning on each other and giggling like children for a solid five minutes on the deserted sidewalk of downtown Boston, in the middle of the night. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard over something so utterly stupid.

“That was cruel!” Clark accused, nudging Bruce’s shoulder with his own.

Bruce shrugged, but one look at the light in Clark’s eyes and he softened. “Maybe. But you laughed.”

Clark chucked again. “Yeah, and now we look insane.”

Bruce raised a brow at Clark as they walked down the fairly quiet street. This time of night, there were still partiers and the stray, overworked night-owl moving about, but it was nowhere near the bustle of a place like New York or Gotham. And no one looked at them with any real recognition.

Clark rolled his eyes when he caught Bruce’s expression. “As civilians,” he clarified. “Superman never looks insane, regardless of the suit and cape. Now, Batman on the other hand…”

Bruce huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh, but wasn’t, really. “If I’m remembering correctly, you thought the Bat was insane, too.”

Clark grinned, catching Bruce’s eye. He nudged Bruce with his elbow. “Apparently, I was on to something: I hear he’s prone to starting food fights in public diners.”

It was dark, even with the glow of the city lights, and Bruce almost felt anonymous, walking side by side with Clark. Later, he would tell himself that was why he laced his arm through Clark’s and didn’t hesitate when Clark took hold of his hand, interlocking their fingers.

For now, he simply let himself feel the warmth of Clark’s skin on his.

“Part of me wonders if this is what it’s like for regular people,” Clark said.

Bruce knew exactly what he meant. “This night might not stand out as anything that unusual for regular people.”

Clark hummed, a soft sound vibrating low in his throat. They were walking close enough that Bruce imagined he could feel it. “It does to me.”

Bruce said nothing, but it was true for him, too. He knew he’d remember this night for a long time, even if there were a dozen more exactly like it in the months to follow. It was a dangerous sort of feeling, almost hopeful, and one he knew he would have to keep in check. He couldn’t afford not to.

He felt Clark’s eyes watching him, and then Clark asked, “What was the original plan?”

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly. “If I tell you that, I won’t be able to use it for next time.”

“Oh, come on, one hint?” Clark teased. “I’m curious now.”

“Go ahead and guess.”

“Okay…dinner?”

Bruce inclined his head. “Food may have been involved.”

“Hm…a show?”

“I never told you I’d confirm your guesses.”

“Ha, that sounds like a confirmation!”

“It isn’t.”

“So it’s a denial?” Clark teased.

“It’s neither. Dinner and a show, really? That’s as creative as you think I can be?”

“Well, I don’t know, it’s a classic combination. Classic’s not so bad.”

Bruce glanced over at Clark, who was gazing out ahead of them with a calm expression. His strong, squared jaw relaxed, the corners of his cupid’s bow lips tilted up unconsciously, as if he was entirely unaware of the way the mismatched colors of the lights played across his dark hair and soft, even skin. His bright blue eyes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the blue of the Aegean Sea, or the sky in the middle of summer.

No, classic wasn’t so bad.

“I was thinking something more intimate,” Bruce said. He might have been able to pretend that his voice was entirely even and lighthearted, if it weren’t for the way his words stirred Clark out of his trance.

Clark tilted his head as if to get a better look at Bruce’s expression, mouth popping open for a moment like he had stopped himself from saying something, or maybe in surprise. Or he was just breathing, and Bruce was far too close to the warmth of Clark to be thinking objectively about anything.

“Intimate?”

Close proximity wouldn’t have affected his ability to hear, and so Bruce was very certain of the way Clark’s tone had dropped several octaves, and the way he cleared his throat afterward. They had stopped walking, and were standing on the corner before an intersection. It would be nothing at all to walk Clark back a step – three, until he hit the wall – and press himself into Clark’s space. Smell the leftover sent of the bay, the salt from the ocean on the exposed skin of his neck.

“Intensely.”

Clark’s eyes darted slightly lower than Bruce’s eyes for less than a second, but Bruce caught the movement all the same.

“How fast do you think you can you get a car here?” Clark asked.

Bruce smirked, risked a step forward, but not too close to be crossing into something wildly inappropriate for public. Then again, he was Bruce Wayne – and with that name came a reputation that assumed a number of things – and Clark was looking at him like _that_ , radiating an entirely different kind of heat.

He tilted his head and put one finger to the middle of Clark’s chest. Bruce had seen Clark get hit by a speeding train and hardly move an inch. Now, Clark was like water, moving back at the slightest pressure, following Bruce’s lead without question.

That unblinking trust, the power Clark was allowing Bruce to have over him, sent a shiver straight down his spine, warming his core and setting his nerves endings alight. And their only point of contact was the tip of a finger. He heard a low, hungry sound coming up from his own chest. He watched Clark’s pupils blow wide.

“Hold that thought.” Bruce didn’t even want to pretend he couldn’t hear the husky baritone in his own voice, not when Clark’s eyes were locked onto his lips, unabashed.

Bruce pulled out his phone, quickly skimming through before typing out, _car to my location_ , and pocketing it again. “Five minutes.”

A flash of a grin caught Clark’s lips. “Five’s just fine.”

Bruce didn’t need to be told twice. He took the last step forward to close the distance, wasting no time in pressing his lips against Clark’s. The soft, warm heat was intoxicating. He felt the slide of Clark’s tongue and it nearly made him shiver. When he ran his teeth along Clark’s bottom lip, Clark’s hands came up to grip Bruce’s arms and when he bit down, he heard the man moan low and throaty.

Bruce twisted his arms out of Clark’s grip, pressing his hands against the wall on either side of Clark, bracketing him in, keeping him right where Bruce wanted him.

Clark’s hips rolled and Bruce met them without thinking.

“Public, Clark,” he teased in a low whisper.

“I’ve seen worse from you in the tabloids,” Clark countered, breathy – already close to panting, and they hadn’t even begun. Not by far.

Bruce groaned and crushed his lips to Clark’s again, chest to chest as Clark’s lips pushed back, challenging, as Bruce met him to counter every move he made.

Hands were on his waist, now, firm and gripping. He felt one corner of his shirt slip out from where it had been tucked in and he didn’t care. In the same moment that the cool breeze of the night air hit his skin, Clark pulled his head back just enough to dive under Bruce’s jaw. He bit and _sucked_ at the sensitive skin of Bruce’s neck, hands tightening and pulling their bodies flush against one another.

The hard line of Clark shifted against Bruce and he let out a tight gasp, he had to, he couldn’t hold it back well enough to silence it completely. He was drowning in Clark: in the smell, and the feeling, and the weight of the hands, of the lips on his neck that didn’t stop. He was suffocating on a street corner in the middle of the night in Boston and there wasn’t a single other place in this universe or any other that he would rather be.

That realization hit him like a sucker punch, and would have knocked out his breath if Clark hadn’t done that already.

Bruce moved instantly, gripping the side of Clark’s head and pulling it up, bringing Clark’s mouth back to his lips. He kissed him with all he had. All of it. It was all he could do.

“What if we made new plans?” Clark whispered, breath ragged against Bruce’s neck when they broke apart.

Bruce tilted to get a better look at Clark’s face before he answered. Clark looked utterly debauched; flushed and mussed and staring at Bruce with a look that was downright hungry. He didn’t need to ask for clarification when Clark was looking at him like that. Bruce wasn’t sure which was more unsettling: that Clark Kent was undone enough to suggest inconveniencing the drivers Bruce had already called by canceling, or the near-electric thrill that was running though his veins at the suggestion.

Bruce pulled back further and looked him in the eye as calmly as he was capable of. “They won’t be staying,” Bruce assured him, assuming Clark’s was mostly objecting to an audience. “The drivers are dropping it off.”

“Screw the car,” Clark blurted. If it were even possible, Bruce would have sworn the high flush on Clark’s cheeks darkened. “I mean—”

“I know what you meant.” Bruce smirked and winked before carefully disentangling himself from Clark enough to get out his phone again. After a few swipes of his finger and a sizable tip for the trouble, Bruce pocketed the phone. “Tell me about these new plans.”

Clark’s smile was wide and bright and utterly out of place here, in the middle of the night, on a street corner, with Bruce. “I was just thinking that I was faster. And that I don’t know how long I could keep it polite with you in the back of whatever fancy car you just canceled.”

Bruce raised a brow. “Who said anything about wanting polite?”

It was near-impossible to say who moved first (Clark), and then they were colliding, coming together in a mess of groans, hands around Bruce’s back, Clark’s lips against his.

“How would you feel about a ride home, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce laughed against Clark’s lips. “Who would I be to turn down a free ride in this economy?”

Clark chuckled too, pulling back just to press his face into the side of Bruce’s head, smiling into his hair. “Okay,” Clark said softly, the words little more than a whisper above Bruce’s ear. It sent a shiver down his spine.

Bruce guided Clark’s head back to a position where Bruce could kiss him, and Clark came willingly, the smile melting into heat with a slide of Bruce’s tongue.

Years of working with Clark, of fighting alongside him, had their advantages, Bruce was beginning to realize. Strategically, he knew what Clark wanted him to do when he put his hands on Bruce’s forearms, and they moved in sync even with their mouths still roaming and exploring, eyes closed with the pleasure of it.

Bruce and Clark turned – Clark’s back to the street now – and they moved in time with one another, step by step, away from the wall. A tap of Clark’s fingers at his elbow told him when to stop, though Bruce was tempted to ignore it and use it as an excuse to be chest to chest again. He didn’t though, and he congratulated himself silently on his impulse control.

Bruce smiled when the memory of where they’d learned to communicate like this came back to him, and he broke the kiss to look at Clark.

It was years ago, now, when they’d been trapped underground without a source light, unsure of where their enemies were. Forced to stick together, silent, with Clark’s hand on his exposed wrist as Clark did his best with his superior senses to lead them to safety. Bruce had hated being reliant on Clark, of course he had, but that was the only reason he’d begrudged the contact. And he hadn’t begrudged it much, at that.

And now…

“I remember something about a ride being promised,” Bruce teased in a low voice, breaking the quiet moment before it became too much and he said something dangerous.

Clark tipped his head in a mockery of a gentlemanly acknowledgement. “We’re short staffed here at Air Kent, so there won’t be a complementary drinks service, but rest assured, your comfort is our highest priority.”

Bruce hummed. “Suppose I’ll have to take it up with the management.”

Clark’s soft laughter and the light in his eyes as he stepped back and held out his arms made Bruce feel assured in a way he couldn’t explain in the moment. Warmth. A smile… The emotions building in his chest were unknown and terrifying, and he was grateful when Clark spoke in his normal voice, saving Bruce from his own mind.

 “Would you rather do this on my back? Or I can carry you? Bridal style in an option. Or not,” he amended with a bashful grin at Bruce’s sour expression. “Carrying you under the arms the way I usually do when you’re in the suit won’t work as well, considering you’ll be considerably more exposed in your civvies.”

“Clark,” Bruce interrupted quickly, before his could turn into a whole thing that lasted what was left of the night. “You’re over thinking this.” Without preamble, Bruce walked around behind Clark and wrapped his arms around him, pressing himself flush against Clark’s back.

“Oh,” Clark said, huskier than before. He cleared his throat when Bruce chuckled. “Alright, that works. That was my first suggestion.”

Listening to Clark so thrown off by him was more rewarding every time it happened. “Problem?”

“There’s going to be if I don’t get us in the air soon,” Clark mumbled.

The bastard rolled his hips back in an exaggerated motion before lifting off, and Bruce couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

He held onto Clark’s waist with a firm grip, and Clark had a hand over his, keeping them secure anyway. He bit back a comment on overprotectiveness and the lack of necessity for it, both because Bruce was fully capable of not letting himself fall to his death, and because Bruce knew without having to analyze possible scenarios that Clark would catch him if he ever did, every time. It wasn’t sentimental, it was objective knowledge of Clark, gained over years of working together. He said nothing, however, because Clark would have taken it sentimentally, without question.

Bruce let his head rest on Clark’s back, and told himself it was to avoid the wind in his eyes. He would have to remember to bring wind protection with him more often, if this was going to be a reoccurring thing.

“Are you all right?” Clark called back, after a while in the air.

“I will be, when I can get my mouth on your skin again,” Bruce said, sure that Clark would be able to hear, even if he didn’t shout over the wind. He felt, more so than heard, Clark’s pause. Bruce smirked. “Unless you’d rather a chaste, wholesome goodnight.”

He knew Clark was mumbling something too low for Bruce to make out, he felt the vibrations from where he was pressed against Clark’s back, and he squeezed Clark’s middle to get his attention.

“Later!” Clark shouted, sounding suspiciously grumpy.

Bruce let his laugh rumble in his chest, knowing Clark could feel it too, and smiled wider when Clark shook his head. He’d always found it easier to smile when there was no chance of witness.

When they finally landed on the rooftop of Wayne Manor, the gravel on the surface crunching first under Clark’s feet, then Bruce’s as he slid off Clark’s back, the very picture of dignified.

Clark was smothering a laugh as Bruce straightened out his jacket and shirt, and Bruce shot him a look that had him holding up his hands in surrender. “Not saying a word. Nor was I implying that your look adorable, all rumpled like that.”

Bruce put up with Clark patting down his hair for all of three seconds. “Is it later?” he grumbled, fixing his own damn hair.

Clark was the one to roll his eyes this time. “Yeah. I don’t know where you got this idea that I’m some wholesome farm boy—”

“Maybe it was all the times you’ve acted the part over the past five years,” Bruce interjected. “Addressing Diana as _ma’am_ for the first few months of the League comes to mind. Or brining Barry that apple pie when he was moping over Jordan…”

“ _But,_ ” Clark insisted, steamrolling over Bruce, “I take serious objection with the implication that I should want to do anything other than remove every piece of clothing from your body, immediately.” He’d taken his time in closing the distance between them while talking, and was now running a hand up Bruce’s right arm. “Also, it was a strawberry rhubarb pie, not apple.”

“I apologize – the filling changes everything.”

“Damn right it does.”

“Cursing now, too? Mr. Kent, I must admit I’m surprised.”

“I can be very surprising,” Clark said, low and gravely, with his lips hovering just over Bruce’s. “Would you like a demonstration, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce’s answer was swallowed up by the press of Clark’s mouth against his. Clark’s lips prying his open, Bruce letting him have control for that one moment before he ran his hands up Clark’s chest, over his shoulders and into his hair, tugging Clark down at a better angle. He _pushed,_ reveling in the solid weight of Clark pressing back, pulling Bruce in at the waist as Bruce gripped the back of his neck like a life-line.

“ _Yes_ ,” and he honestly wasn’t sure which of them said it.

The pressure below the belt Bruce had been doing his best to ignore was building faster still, straining against metal and fabric, demanding more, more, more.

“Clark,” he breathed, the second their lips broke.

Clark ducked his head under Bruce’s jaw, nipping the skin, and humming in response. Bruce’s mind spun. “You taste…” Clark began, but never finished, because his mouth was back on Bruce’s neck with another moan.

That sound might be Bruce’s undoing, in the end.

“Clothes,” Bruce practically growled, hands ready and waiting on Clark’s chest for approval. The solid muscle underneath that shirt was criminal. Bruce wanted nothing more than to get eyes on it – and lips and teeth and tongue.

Clark pulled away from Bruce’s neck, and Bruce missed the wet heat of it for all the time it took for him to lock eyes with Clark and see the wild desire there. Blatant, unreserved, and earnest as Clark always was. There was no denying the way Clark was looking at him, now. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to deny that Clark wanted him again, not when Clark shuddered at the slightest touch, clothes still unfairly separating them. Not when Clark rushed forward to crush their lips together again, kissing Bruce for all he was worth and more, until they were gasping and breathless and Clark was saying, begging, “ _Yes._ ”

They wasted no time in unbuttoning and pushing back the shirts that only were only getting in the way, and soon enough they were chest to chest, Bruce’s shirt unbuttoned and hanging from one shoulder as Clark’s mouth sucked a mark onto the other.

They kissed, hands roaming and exploring like they’d never seen each other shirtless before, like Bruce had never touched Clark’s chest or seen how it looked flushed and heaving between intakes of breath. And he hadn’t touched it like this. Not even the first time. They had been exploring other areas, then, to be fair (Clark’s face and much lower), but now Bruce ran his hands across Clark’s chest, fingers catching against nipples, stopping when Clark sucked in a startled breath.

Bruce smirked against Clark’s mouth. “Interesting.”

“No bantering now, _Rao,_ but do that again,” Clark pleaded, and it did something to Bruce’s blood pressure to hear him beg.

“Magic word,” Bruce drolled, inordinately proud of himself for keeping the breathlessness he was feeling out of his tone.

“I’ll show you magic,” Clark grumbled, moving faster than Bruce’s eyes could catch as he tossed Bruce’s shirt aside carelessly, then slid a hand under Bruce’s pants, hand cupping his ass as he pulled Bruce closer, roughly, demanding, and grinded against him, their erections giving that maddening too-much but not-enough kind of friction.

Not to be outdone – though he wasn’t entirely sure he would mind being shown up just then, if it felt like _that_ – Bruce slid his body against Clark, pressing his thigh between Clark’s legs and against his groin, and felt the scratch of his teeth against his shoulder. “ _Bruce_.” His name never sounded as good as it did when it was coming out of Clark’s lips like that.

“Tell me what you want.”

Clark traced a line with his lips from the place on Bruce’s shoulder to the juncture where his neck began. His breath was hot and wet and it was almost enough to make Bruce moan. “You,” Clark said, like it was an answer that didn’t make Bruce want to strip the rest of their clothes and fuck him right there on the gravely roof. He knew Clark was thinking along similar lines when Clark tightened the grip of his free hand on Bruce’s waist, grinding up again, and _god._

“Something more feasible for where we are right now, perhaps.” Eager as they both were, Bruce wasn’t sex-crazed enough to _actually_ have penetrative sex on his rooftop. When he had boys prone to climbing buildings, unheard and unseen, and who were also prone to meeting other members of their family on rooftops at night. Bruce shoved those thoughts away before he could think too carefully about all the reasons this was a terrible idea in the first place.

Not too great a feat when Clark was making those little noises in his ear, coaxing Bruce to _let go_.

Clark pulled back, detaching himself and removing both hands, and all Bruce could see was the red of his swollen lips. Suddenly, he couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that he was the reason for it. Clark held his gaze as his hands moved back to Bruce’s hips, sliding down until they were on his thighs, squeezing enough to tease, and then lower still as Clark sank with them.

Nothing had prepared Bruce for the sight of Clark on his knees.

Obviously, he’d had his dick sucked before – he was Bruce Wayne. But the number of times he’d been in a similar position with people who mattered was far, far fewer, and they had always been people who would rather die than be on their knees in front of Bruce, looking up at him like that. It had never been with Clark, was the point. And seeing him now, with his tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes bright and taunting, a promise in the way his lips parted…

Clark’s sly grin grew as he took in Bruce’s awe-struck face. Try as he might, controlling that expression into something more appropriate was damn near impossible.

“Keep looking at me like that and I might get the impression that this is something I should do more often,” Clark said.

“Get up here,” Bruce rasped, no bothering to clear his throat.

Clark’s eyebrows pinched in confusion and Bruce didn’t waste time with an eyeroll, because _honestly,_ and reached down to draw Clark up, devouring the taste of Clark’s lips with his own, capturing his bottom lip, sucking, and pulling at the hair on the back of Clark’s head. He was many things, but a slow-learner was not one of them.

Clark moaned like Bruce knew he would, his hands tightening their grip on Bruce’s ass before one came back around to undo the button on Bruce’s pants, and then the zip. Bruce kissed him harder when he felt the brush of Clark’s fingers on his skin, sending shockwaves up his spine. His legs might have shaken, unsteady on his feet for a split second, but he’d deny it with his dying breath.

Bruce ran his tongue between Clark’s lips, over the place he had bitten, and quickly undid Clark’s jeans. He stroked Clark over the fabric and Clark’s hand flew out and gripped his wrist. Bruce smirked, pulling away to look Clark in the eyes. “Impatient?”

“You have no idea.” Clark’s voice was rough, weighed down by the want that mirrored the _need_ Bruce felt running through his veins.

“Good.”

Clark moaned against Bruce’s lips when Bruce pulled out his dick, running his hand over the tip and dragging the slick evidence of Clark’s arousal down to the base.

“Widen your stance.”

Clark did exactly as Bruce said, no hesitation, but there was a question in his eyes. Bruce answered by kneeling down without hesitation and ghosting his lips over Clark’s cock, down to the base where he pressed his tongue licked a line straight up to the tip. Clark’s entire body shook.

“Bruce, _God_ , Bruce,” he moaned, breath coming in faster as Bruce wrapped his lips around the head. He felt Clark raise his hands and then hesitate before lowering them again. Without stopping the slow motions of his tongue, he used his free hand to grab Clark’s and placed it firmly in his hair. Clark’s fingers wove through and _pulled_ and Bruce moaned on his cock. _Fuck_. That wasn’t just Clark’s thing, then.

He loved the way Clark responded, never holding back the sounds like the whimper that fell from his lips when Bruce took him down to the hilt, bobbing and sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks. Bruce had never been so thrown by the scent of a person before, but _Clark_. Clark was something completely different.

When was he going to stop being surprised by that?

Clark’s hips jerked forward, hands tight in the short strands of Bruce’s hair, holding him there. Bruce groaned when he felt the tip slam into the back of his throat. He shifted quickly, sliding his lips back up on Clark’s shaft enough to lift his arms and shove Clark’s hips back with hands pressing hard on both of his thighs.

“Show me,” Clark said, the challenge in Clark’s eyes when Bruce looked up made his cock pulse between his legs. There was nothing he wanted more than to wipe that expression from Clark’s face, turn him inside out with pleasure, ruin him, make him want to collapse right there, because of _him_.

Bruce didn’t give Clark any warning, taking all of him until the tip hit the back of his throat again. He eased fingers past the gap in Clark’s pants, running them over his balls with careful pressure and groaning around Clark’s cock when he cursed, letting it vibrate as much as he could, then glancing up.

When their eyes met, Bruce thought Clark just might collapse after all. Clark said his name like a prayer, and Bruce was all too happy to answer it.

When he came, Bruce worked the base with his hand, letting it fill his mouth and slide down his throat before he had a chance to swallow. He watched Clark watching him, so he knew the moment Clark decided to move, but he still wasn’t expecting Clark to sink to his knees and kiss him immediately, sealing their lips and running his tongue around Bruce’s mouth like he was chasing the taste of himself on Bruce’s lips.

“Let me,” Clark whispered when he broke away, leaving Bruce feeling doubly light headed. 

“Are you—”

“If I don’t get my mouth around you right now, I might combust right here on your roof.” Bruce kissed him in answer, and guided Clark so they were standing together. Clark sucked a mark under Bruce’s ear, but Bruce didn’t have the capacity to be annoyed with Clark so close and the taste of him still fresh on his tongue. “I’m going to make you feel it, too,” Clark promised, voice deep, and Bruce tried to pretend the sounds didn’t make him shiver, even if the words didn’t quite make sense in his head when he played them back.

It quickly became irrelevant, because Clark was on his knees again, and all of Bruce’s attention was devoted to that sight. Clark mouthed at his dick, warm breath and wet lips leaving trails and driving Bruce more insane by the second.

Bruce ran a hand through Clark’s hair, and Clark moaned. When he ran his tongue along the shaft, Bruce forgot to hold back a gasp. When Clark wrapped his lips around the head, flicked his eyes up to Bruce, then took him down, the whole way, without stopping, Bruce nearly lost consciousness. But he didn’t, because nothing could make him look away from the sight of himself disappearing down Clark’s throat. Clark’s red lips wrapped around him, sliding and moaning around his cock as if he wanted nothing more.

“Clark,” he rasped, running a hand along Clark’s the edge of jaw. He was overwhelmed by _feeling_ so much in that moment he couldn’t speak, and then Clark pulled off slowly.

“I want you to,” Clark said, voice horse, and Bruce couldn’t help but get stuck on the fact it was hoarse because he’d had Bruce down his throat, and so he just nodded, twining his fingers in Clark’s hair for encouragement.

It was down to sheer power of will that Bruce didn’t come at the first touch of Clark’s mouth around him again. He wanted it to last, wanted to watch Clark with his flushed, hollowed cheeks and _god –_ all thoughts whited out to static waves of pleasure as he gave into the feeling of Clark working him, moaning and encouraging with his hands running the backs of Bruce’s thighs.

He let his head fall back when he came, biting down on his lip to keep from shouting. Clark soothed him until it became too much, and Bruce carefully pulled away.

Clark stood and they looked at each other both of them breathing hard, and then Bruce moved, crushing his lips to Clark’s with his last burst of energy, feeling gloriously spent.

Clark chuckled, but Bruce noticed his lips were suspiciously slack, too. Bruce made a lo sound in his throat, almost a hum, as Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist.

“I’d say we didn’t do too bad,” Clark teased.

Bruce just gave him a flat look, not justifying that with a response.

Clark smiled, bending his neck to kiss Bruce again. Softer this time, less hurried and desperate than when they’d started. Bruce felt Clark’s thumbs rubbing circles at the small of his back, then he was pulled closer, Clark practically hugging him as Bruce broke for air.

“What is it?” Bruce asked. As blissed out as he felt, he knew how to read Clark. The little embarrassed smile at the corner of his mouth proved Bruce right.

A shrug. “Nothing really, just…I don’t think this is exactly how I pictured it going down the first time.”

Bruce frowned. “This isn’t the first time…” he said slowly, pulling abck to study Clark better. He was immediately picturing a scenario where Clark had been hit with some kind of weapon during the fight and had his memory altered. Which was ridiculous, but then again, so was Clark’s statement.

Clark laughed softly and shook his head. “I know, I just meant the first time outside of the _very_ first time, right after we admitted to everything and decided to try, and emotions were running high. The first time that wasn’t completely spontaneous, spur of the moment, and all.” He shrugged. “It’s silly.”

Bruce wasn’t sure he followed, but he gave a nod anyway. There were some things that mattered to Clark that were inexplicable to Bruce, and so he assumed this was one of those. If it meant something to Clark, it wasn’t silly. Though in his experience, emotions always ran high when Clark was around, and so waiting for a time when that wasn’t the case to count it as a ‘first time’ was moot.

“How did you picture it?” Bruce asked, genuinely curious.

Clark smirked, looking almost bashful. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bruce knew a grown man looking bashful shouldn’t have been cute, and yet… “I don’t know,” Clark admitted. “Maybe the whole romantic shebang: candles, rose petals, cheesy jazz music playing in the background.”

“I’m stunned that you think hasty blowjobs on a dirty rooftop aren’t romantic.”

“Well, I never said that. Where I come from, secret blowjobs on a rooftop under the stars are a part of the sacred courting ritual.”

“You’re from Kansas,” Bruce stated, deadpan.

“We have stars in Kansas,” Clark assured him, very seriously.

Bruce didn’t hold back his laugh at that, and then Clark stared laughing too, only stopping when Bruce pulled him for a kiss. It was soft, slow like the one Clark had given him before. Not lazy, but gentle. Clark felt warm and pliable under his lips, and his hand was relaxed and comforting where it still held on to Bruce’s. He felt a bubble of emotion forming in his chest, and if he held on a little tighter to Clark’s hand for a moment, Clark didn’t comment on it, only kissed Bruce back in the same, purposeful way.

When they broke apart, Clark’s eyes were searching his. Then a small smile spread across Clark’s face. God, he was gorgeous, Bruce thought. “So, is this where one of us says, _I’ll call you_?” Clark teased.

“I’m more of a texting person.”

Clark smiled wider at him, open and honest and happy. “I know.” Clark winked and turned on his heel, walking away until he ran out of roof, and then turning back to look at Bruce with that same, self-satisfied grin. “I’ll see you soon, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t hold back a small smile of his own. It was involuntary. He knew Clark could see it because for a moment it looked like Clark might run right back over, but then he simply nodded and tapped twice on the concrete barrier, stepping up and over, falling out of sight for all of one second before floating back up. _Show-off_.

Bruce wouldn’t have looked back after that, had he been in Clark’s shoes, but Clark was Clark, and so of course, Clark looked back. Clark was still smiling as he started to fly away, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was smiling, too, Bruce might have said it looked goofy.

Bruce didn’t say _goodbye_ or _stay safe_ or any of the other mindlessly obtuse things he’d heard Dick say to Barbara, and any number of the other women Dick dated. He didn’t toss out an annoyingly sweet pet name, or even something more common like _baby_ or _love_. Bruce never would have, regardless of the circumstance. But the way Clark looked back at him as he floated away – the soft smile on Clark’s lips and the crinkle around his eyes – Bruce almost felt as if he had.

As he stood alone on the roof, staring out at the slowly brightening horizon, at the nearly-gone speck in the sky, a tight knot formed in his middle and spread up through his body and stuck in his throat. He didn’t dare put a name to the warm, tingly feeling – too wary to give it voice – but it was a feeling that was becoming increasingly noticeable as time went on, growing stronger instead of dissipating the way it should have done.

Part of him knew the feeling for what it was, though. Part of him knew it was suspiciously similar to happiness.

\----

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	2. Easy Compormise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot makes an appearance, Clark and Bruce are terrible at using their words, and Alfred is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. It’s been a while. Honestly, this thing has been guiltily gnawing at the back of my mind for so long I thought it would be unfinished forever. Thanks for the nice things y’all have said on tumblr, it so sweet and makes me wanna give everyone a hug.

BRUCE

Oracle’s voice pipped in over the comm as Bruce and Tim ran across the docks. “We have a problem.”

“Bigger than the dozens of potentially radioactive weapons currently being brought into the city?” Tim grumbled.

“I’m pipping Nightwing through to you, now,” she said briskly, otherwise ignoring the comment.

Bruce vaulted over the edge of the dock, rolling into his landing on the back end of the dingy mariner. He heard Tim’s light steps on the level above soon after. “Quickly,” Bruce murmured to Oracle.

“Batman?” Dick sounded out of breath.

“You have two minutes.”

“I’m gonna need more than that for this one. Looks like that lead you gave me on Luthor played out after all. The dregs are expecting him to make an appearance within the next few days, or at the very least, a representative.”

“How sure are you?”

There was a brief pause. “Have you been following the string of throat-slashing murders over the past three weeks? What am I saying – of course you have. There was another one fitting the MO tonight. The body was found with a Metropolis General ID badge – a nurse. Didn't look like a mobster to me, so I followed two Big and Tall’s hanging around the scene and picked up some of their chatter.  Sounds like she saw something she shouldn't have.”

“Who were they working for?” Tim asked. Bruce looked up, holding out two fingers and pointing them westward, toward the bow of the ship. He watched Tim vault silently over the barricades before moving in the opposite direction.

“Odessa Mob,” Dick answered solemnly.

It didn’t take an expert in Gotham’s crime syndicate to known that the Ukrainians were almost exclusively known for arms dealing. In fact, they likely had a stake in the drop happening at the docks – the one Bruce and Tim were currently working on. The pieces of Luthor’s web were slowly coming together in Bruce’s mind, but why Odessa? For someone on Luthor’s level, they were low hanging fruit. If it was territory in Gotham he was after, that was a problem. Whale didn't respond well to people who made him feel insignificant. 

“You’re headed to the docks,” he surmised aloud for Tim and Dick’s benefit.

It was too close a coincidence, the kill and the weapons deal, added to the fact the Odessa Mob wasn’t known for being full of criminal masterminds – their numbers were mostly thugs and convicts, the people on the fringes of society that felt better in packs of people who looked and sounded like them.

“Yeah, how’d…” he sighed. “You’re there, too,” Dick deadpanned, tossing out a curse under his breath.

Bruce might have reprimanded him for unnecessary chatter if he hadn’t heard heavy footfalls coming from the inside of the hull. “East side, dock 12. Batman, out.”

There were seven people on the boat in total, but only one below deck. The first splash was Tim throwing one of the others overboard, and the sound drew two more toward him. The other three readied their weapons and spread out. Bruce was almost disappointed.

By the time he had the third member tied unconscious and shoved into the dingy with the others, number seven’s voice pipped in on their walkie-talkies. “Sasha? What’s going on up there?” Bruce chucked it into the bay.

“Keep it dark until the crew coming to collect gets here,” he told Tim quietly.

“Understood. Are you heading down?”

Bruce considered. “You can handle it.”

“Really?” Tim blurted, but he recovered quickly. “I mean, yeah. On it.”

There was nothing useful on the top deck, nor in the cockpit. It seemed everything was being held in cargo below deck. But the lack of anything was strange. The small number of crew aboard the ship made Bruce uneasy, too.

“Uh, Batman?”

“Problem?”

“No, tied the goon up, but…it’s empty down here.”

Bruce frowned. “Take pictures and bring him up.” He couldn’t leave them vulnerable with no one to watch for whoever was supposed to be coming, though now the word _trap_ was seeming more and more likely.

“Fuck you, pip squeak,” the tied-up Odessa Mob member spat at Tim. “You’re a blind, crazy mother fucker. Did you not see all the shit we got? We can blow you into space, man. You fucked with the wrong crew.” The look on his face when he finally noticed Batman waiting for him wasn’t quite satisfying, but it would do. Tim backed away to stand at Bruce’s side. “Fuck. I knew your pansy-ass get-up looked familiar.”

Bruce wasted no time in aiming a punch at his jaw, then gripping it firmly in one hand. “Where are the explosives?”

“Uh…” He blinked, disoriented, and Bruce griped tighter. “Down there! He saw them! No idea what he was talking about with that empty bullshit. There are tons of boxes. Lead lined.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Bruce’s mind that Tim was telling the truth, but this man clearly believed what he was saying. “How did you get them on to the ship?”

“I…I…screw this. I ain’t saying shit.”

Bruce let his frown speak for him, then jabbed under the mobster’s ribs.

“Ah! Carried them! That’s it!”

“What was the plan?”

“Get them here, sell them, move on. The fuck else?”

The batcomputer finally caught up and relayed the man's arrest record though his comm. Emiel Rmanyuk: aged thirty-one, charged for illegal gang activity five counts of battery, two accounts of assaulting an officer, a handful of petty thefts, three armed robberies, and one grand theft auto. “You’re lying to me, Emiel.”  

The color drained out of his face. “H-how…”

There was a rumor Bruce encouraged that the Batman knew everything. So far it was more useful than not, especially when people were so ready to be afraid of the Bat. “We know your people carried out the hit on the nurse from Metropolis.”

Emiel spluttered. “You ain’t know shit. The boys didn’t leave nothing.”

Tim didn’t roll his eyes, but it looked like it took effort to keep the stone-faced expression. “That’s an admission, genius.”

He thrashed against the restraint in vain, scowling. “I’m sayin’ I don’t know nothin’! None of youse can make me talk. You’re scary as shit, Bat-freak, but you ain’t nothing like…” his mouth snapped shut and his eyes went wide. It was fear, the kind that makes a person shake down to their core.

“WHO.” Bruce demanded, slamming him again against the metal wall, hands fisted tightly in Emiel’s shirt. “Talk. If you think whatever’s threatening you is worse than a night spent in Arkham, worse than _me_ , you haven’t been paying attention _._ I have the time and the motivation to make your next few days very interesting. Talk now, and maybe you’ll enjoy the use of your jaw in the morning.”

Emiel laughed, sounding further past hysteria than his expression would suggest. His face went slack except for the opening of his mouth.

“Batman,” Tim warned. “Something’s not right. His pupils are—”

The laughter grew louder, and Bruce pushed him harder against the wall. “ _Talk._ ”

The soft _ding_ of a notification on Tim’s scanner was barely noticeable over the frantic, desperate sounds coming from the man’s mouth, but his expression was flat – utterly emotionless in a way that was unnatural. One fat tear welled in Emiel’s left eye.

“Down!” Tim yelled.

Bruce started to turn his back with barely enough time to bend his knees before the flesh, bone, and searing heat exploded from the thug’s head. Something sharp sliced across Bruce’s chin, too quick to block. Splatters of hot, liquified substances splattered the deck and over Bruce, who felt the thousand tiny impacts against his cowl and Kevlar.

He rolled to brace himself against one of the crates, tossing up his cape protectively.

“Status,” he called out. Another man’s blood sprayed from his lips as he spoke. He didn’t bother to wipe it away, too concerned now with what it meant that an otherwise inconsequential thug had an explosive lodged in his skull.

He heard Tim retch once, twice, then suck in a ragged breath before answering; “Clear.”

His communicator was dead, though the side of his cowl hadn’t been hit. “Scan,” he ordered, but was met with silence. Either the batcomputer was down, or his tech was unresponsive. Could it have been an EMP?

Still crouched, he angled his body to get a look back at the body. What was left of it.

The chest cavity was blown open from the top, flesh torn and smoking around the place where a neck had been. There was hardly anything of the shoulders remaining, nothing but shards of bone and violent red strings of muscle.

The smell of burning meat was already permeating the air.

It was no small wonder Tim had retched at the sight, but there wasn’t time for that. The explosion had hardly been silent, and there would be police swarming the area soon enough. Not to mention the likelihood of more Odessa thugs showing up to clean evidence of their involvement. And then there was the issue of the nurse and how she fit, and the empty room below.

Trying to sift through the remains to find the device that had caused the explosion would be useless, not in the dead of night with no way to scan the area.  Bruce inspected what he could, while Tim stayed back a distance, but aside from taking a sample of residue from the wall and searching the

Dick’s voice called out for them from the other side of the dock.

“Go. Tell him to keep his voice down,” Bruce ordered Tim. “We were being observed, and we have no guarantee it stopped with this man’s death. If Nightwing’s tech is intact, bring him here. Back at the cave, salvage whatever you can from the cowl’s recording and the photos you took.”

Tim nodded tightly and was out of sight the next moment. It was too easy to forget his age, his inexperience with the gruesome side of crime, but wishing another life for Tim wasn’t a luxury he had. It wasn’t his right, either. Tim had made his choice, and all Bruce could do was prepare him as best he could.

Tonight, someone had died on his watch. He hadn’t seen the signs soon enough, hadn’t headed Tim’s warning or the red flags that were glaring in hindsight, pressing forward when he should have looked closer. But in covering their tracks so thoroughly, whomever had planted that device in the man’s head had given themselves away. Someone had wanted them here, and had waited for just the right moment to end their play.

The comment Emiel had made about the cases that didn’t exist being lead lined stuck out, too. The slacked face, believing things were there that weren’t, and even the way he had stopped himself from finishing a sentence that Bruce was certain would have given him the answer he needed…all of it pointed to a place Bruce hated having to go. He had seen what Scarecrow’s toxins could do to the mind, experienced it first hand, and maybe it was possible there was a new strain that caused hallucinations that weren’t based in fear…but it seemed unlikely.

The signs were pointing to magic, but as far as Bruce knew, Luthor generally didn’t trade in the stuff.  

He was getting closer to uncovering a larger plot, clearly, but to what end?

\----

CLARK

He was hunched forward on the couch, chewing at the end of a pen as he typed, deleted, then re-typed strings of words that absolutely refused to come together, only to delete them all over again. Clark had been working on the same paragraph for the past hour with little to no hope of finishing the article by 2:00 AM. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, contemplating giving up but knowing it was due in the morning, and he had put off enough work lately between Metallo’s untimely return to Metropolis and League business. And Bruce.

The Bruce part was probably the real reason he couldn’t focus, if Clark felt like being honest with himself. Which he didn’t.

Clark hadn’t seen Bruce in just over two weeks, which wouldn’t have felt so unusual if they hadn’t started…doing whatever it was they were doing. Neither of them had put a name to it, and maybe they didn’t need to, but it would sure make Clark’s life easier if they did. He hadn’t even told his Ma about any of it yet – nor anyone else for that matter – but what would he even say to her?

_Ma, I’m dating Bruce Wayne, but not officially, and really it was only the one date – sort of. Unless you count take-out dinners and unexpected visits as dates._

She wouldn’t.

_Ma, I’m seeing Bruce Wayne. Infrequently. Unofficially. It’s less of a well-defined commitment and more of a…thing. I thought I knew what it was when we started, but now I’m not so sure I even know what he wants out of this, or out of me…_

That would put her on defensive mama-bear mode, for sure. He didn’t want to throw Bruce under the bus right out of the gate – Ma could be downright vicious when she wanted to be. And where Clark’s emotional well-being was concerned, Martha Kent did not mess around. It had taken her a while to really warm back up to Lois after their break-up, and she was _Lois_ – Ma adored her.

Clark tried again.

_Ma, I’m sleeping with Batman. Sometimes. We just haven’t literally slept_ , _per say, or ever so much as stayed the whole night. He actually doesn’t seem interested in anything even remotely domestic, so what_ this _is, is anyone guess…_

That one hardly made sense, even to him.

_Ma, I have no idea what I’m doing, and I don’t think he does either_. _Surprise!_

The last one came the closest to the truth, but it wouldn’t be enough of an explanation to fly with her. And Clark couldn’t use the _L_ word to describe what this was, because that was close to admitting that it needed to be said after all. He knew dwelling on it would open the floodgates to the point where he wasn’t sure he’d be able to close them again, and then he’d say it, and it would up blow up in his face. Were Clark to go down that road, it was all too inevitable.

He could be wrong – he could always be wrong – but was that slim chance worth the risk of having the image of Bruce’s would-be reaction burnt into his memory? It wasn’t as if Clark would be able to forget it, once it was there.

A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts, and it took another full second for Clark to realize it was Bruce doing the knocking.

Bruce was pulling the silent, _am-I -breathing-or-am-I-a-walking-corpse_ move, as Hal used to call it, which only made Bruce stick out more as far as Clark was concerned – if that were possible.

“It’s not locked, is it?” Clark shouted, expectedly earning nothing but silence in return. He looked through the door and saw Bruce standing there with his arms crossed and shoulders pushed back, like he knew Clark was watching and wanted to seem unimpressed.

To say Bruce showing up at his door like this was an unanticipated was a drastic understatement, and Clark’s heart did a little kick despite himself.

What was he, a too-green teenager faced with his first crush?

He sped over to the door, unable to keep the smile from his face as he opened it, too quickly at first, then he slowed down as he remembered he was well over thirty years old. “What are you doing here in Metropolis?”

Bruce didn’t quite smile back. “Are you going to let me in before or after your neighbors notice that Bruce Wayne is standing in their hallway?”

Clark leaned against the door frame, smile turning into a grin. “I would, if the billionaire in question deigned to explain why he decided to grace me with his presence at nearly two o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday.”

Bruce sighed through his nose, his head falling into a sideways tilt, silently saying, _really?_

“Yes, really,” Clark supplied, crossing his arms over his chest. The smile that was still stuck to his face probably ruined the effect he was going for, but oh well. “I’m on a deadline, so you might want to hurry up.”

Bruce visibly straightened at that. “Am I interrupting?” His minute expressions shifted from condescending to apprehensive then back to expressionless so quickly that someone without Clark’s senses might have missed the changes entirely.

“No!” Clark answered immediately, straightening up quickly, then wincing as he realized that was a lie. “Well, yes, actually. But if you want to wait until I’m finished, I can be all yours for the next couple of hours?”

Who needed sleep, anyway? Sleep was for people who didn’t have Bruce Wayne waiting at their doorstep.

“Deal,” Bruce agreed, and strode past him into the apartment. Clark, feeling that persistent smile still bright on his face, watched as Bruce made himself at home on the couch next to where Clark had been perched moments before. Clark did his best not to dwell on that picture too much. “What are you writing?”

Clark shrugged noncommittally. “Nothing too interesting.”

“Tell me anyway,” Bruce insisted, obviously meaning it as a suggestion, though it sounded a lot like an order.

If it hadn’t been for the past five years of their friendship, and a longer time still of having known Bruce as a colleague, Clark would have no hope in the world at deciphering the man’s interactions, and even less hope of navigating his moods.

Tonight, Bruce was tense and more than a little tired. There was a fresh mark on his chin, that looked like it had only barely begun to heal, which likely meant that he had been patrolling before coming here. Clark knew there must have been a reason why he’d come all this way in the middle of the night, unannounced, when he’d never done it before, but Clark humored him regardless; going into greater and greater detail about the exposé he was spearheading on the latest environmental scandal.

Talking it out with Bruce helped Clark write the piece more than he would have guessed – as he grew more passionate and worked up about the blatant back-door deals the senator was allowing, he channeled his renewed interest into words on the page. It also helped that Bruce was an ideal audience; asking questions where the article would need more clarification for a less informed reader, and offering his own reactions, too.

As Clark finished off typing his closing statement, it finally dawned on him. “You did that on purpose.”

Bruce shrugged, leaning his head back on the couch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Clark.”

“Sure,” Clark teased, closing the laptop. He had only just stood up, hardly moved a step, when Bruce caught Clark’s wrist with his eyes closed. Clark let himself be pulled back onto the couch, but Bruce hadn’t yet opened his eyes. A thrill ran down Clark’s spine at the casual-ness of the gesture. Which was stupid – silly, really – but that didn’t make it any less true. He wondered if he’d ever get used to Bruce initiating contact like that.

“Okay, sitting is good, too,” Clark teased.

Bruce hummed, but still hadn’t let go of Clark’s wrist a moment later. He was completely unmoving aside from the barely-noticeable expansion of his chest as he breathed.

There were more than a few questions buzzing around Clark’s head at that moment: _what are you doing? Why are you here?_ And a few more less coherent, less proprietary, ones besides. Clark didn’t ask any of them though, always afraid of snapping one of Bruce’s many invisible trip-wires that would cause him to shut down or run off.

He could feel the increasing thrum of Bruce’s pulse, though, as much as Bruce always tried to mask it. Clark smirked, watching Bruce’s face carefully as he shifted, ever so slowly, swinging a leg around to the other side of Bruce’s hips, straddling him.

Bruce didn’t move.

Well that was just fine, if he wanted to play it that way…

Clark settled back on Bruce’s lap, leaving one hand where Bruce still held onto it and moving the other to grip the back of the couch to prop himself up as he leaned forward so that his breath could ghost over Bruce’s neck as he spoke. “Objections?”

Bruce hummed – something dangerously close to a noncommittal.

“Hm. Not good enough. How will I know how far to go? What you like? This, for instance,” Clark murmured, trailing his lips, feather-light, from the place on Bruce’s neck to just behind his ear, scraping his teeth just so as he captured the lobe between them.

Bruce’s breath stopped for a moment at that, just long enough for Clark to catch it, before the rhythm returned to normal.

“Or this…” he shifted his pelvis forward, toward Bruce’s, stopping just shy of firmly pressing them together. This time he definitely felt Bruce’s pulse kick up in response. Clark chuckled under his breath, returning to Bruce’s neck to trace the tense muscle down to his shoulder and back up.

It wasn’t unusual for Bruce to be still, sometimes it was downright unnerving the way he could stare a person down without so much as blinking, but to be able to explore him like this, uninterrupted? Clark wasn’t about to give that up for anything.

The line of Bruce’s jaw was a top contender of Clark’s favorite things. Running his lips over the bone, nipping the skin at the other side, teasing, only partially waiting for Bruce to respond at this point. The rest of him was lost in enjoying the moment and the feel of soft, heated skin and stubble.

Bruce smelled like cologne and the barest hint of exhaust, no doubt from a car that cost more than a year’s worth of rent on the apartment. It was a heady scent, not because of the fancy cologne or the expensive car, but because the details spoke of rushing, speeding, and just a slight bit of carelessness that wasn’t so slight when it came to Bruce.

Bruce, who planned everything down to the minutia, who strategized every move so far in advance he was almost always three steps ahead of everyone else. Bruce, who had apparently ditched those plans, at least one or two, and come here instead. To Clark.

Bruce, whose pulse wasn’t quite so measured anymore.

Clark pulled back, and Bruce’s head turned just slightly, as if trying to follow. Since Bruce’s eyes were closed, he couldn’t see the way Clark was looking at him, which was probably for the better. Clark felt like the inside of his chest was going to expand faster than the outside with how much he felt in that moment.

Clark let his free hand roam over Bruce’s shoulder and down the hard muscle of his left side, careful of the bruises he assumed would be there.

Feeling bolder, he brought his hand back up to rub his thumb across Bruce’s nipple, realizing that the flesh was already hard and waiting for someone to offer friction. Luckily, Clark was a generous man.

The involuntary shiver that went through Bruce at that touch was even better.

The hand gripping Clark’s wrist tightened.

“If you’re too tired…” Clark started, but he didn’t get to finish the taunt, because Bruce sprang into action without warning, pulling Clark back down to bring their lips together with a hand clasped firmly on the back of Clark’s neck. Bruce kept Clark’s head in place as he opened Clark’s lips with a press of his tongue, then let go of Clark’s wrist just to grip Clark’s waist and pull him closer.

His kiss was hard, demanding, pushing Clark to give as good as he got. A moan escaped Clark’s mouth, as deep and throaty as the one that followed from Bruce. And oh _god_ , did that sound go straight to Clark’s cock.

Clark had full use of his senses, and a keen awareness of the fact Bruce had gotten hard but feeling that length against his own was a completely different matter, no matter how many times it happened. He gasped into Bruce’s mouth, and Bruce took the opportunity to bite at Clark’s bottom lip, making him moan again and grind down again, _again._

“ _Bruce.”_

“Tease,” Bruce accused, sparing no time for talk, pressing in on Clark’s neck with the heat of his open mouth, sucking and scraping his teeth against Clark’s skin – sending waves of feeling and _want_ down Clark’s body.

“You liked it,” Clark answered, taking Bruce’s lead on wasting no time by getting to work on unbuttoning Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce pulled back just enough to lock eyes with Clark as his hand made its way to Clark’s dick and griped it through his pants, pressing a thumb to the tip as Clark let out a sound dangerously close to a whine. “So did you.”

“Fuck, Bruce. I thought you were tired?”

He grinned at Clark, eyes looking heavier with intent by the minute. “So did I. Maybe I should use you instead of coffee in the mornings.”

“No arguments from the peanut gallery.”

“ _Good.”_ The tone in Bruce’s voice, so raw and blatant in its desire, was finally too much for Clark to handle.

“Screw these, I’m sorry,” he muttered, ripping through at least half of the buttons on his shirt, pulling Bruce toward him so he could get the evil fabric off and far away from the wonder that was Bruce, shirtless.

Bruce seemed to hardly notice what the sight of him did to Clark, focusing instead on making quick work of Clark’s belt. “Not here,” Bruce said suddenly, nudging Clark away from where he had been about to do the same for Bruce.

Clark was put-out only for a moment before he caught on. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

He maybe shouldn’t have been grinning so wide, but it was even less likely that Bruce had ever thought he was smooth, anyway, so. He took the opportunity to slide his hands under Bruce’s thighs and lift the both of them off the couch until they were standing. And _oh_ , the look in Bruce’s eyes was interesting.

“I’m faster,” Clark said unnecessarily.

Bruce grunted and brought his hands to fist in Clark’s shirt, his mouth moving on Clark’s in a way that gave away exactly how he felt about that. “Prove it.”

\----

And if he muttered “I love you,” as he fell asleep, well that was fine. Bruce had fallen asleep first, after all, it wasn’t as if he could hear it, much less respond. It was too soon for Bruce for Clark to say it in the light of day, but he could get by for the moments like this.

\----

Before he even opened his eyes, Clark knew Bruce was sleeping beside him. Still, he made himself blink, look away and back again just to confirm what was right in front of him.

He’d seen Bruce asleep before, of course he had. Maybe once or twice. Come to think of it, there was really only one time that he could remember. It was on a mission, just the two of them and Diana. It must have been two years ago by now – Bruce didn’t sleep in front of people if he could help it.

They had spent who knows how long arguing over who would take watch, but eventually he and Diana had overpowered Bruce with the simple logic that they both had powers to help them through, while he didn’t. Then it had just been a matter of negotiating with Diana. Somehow, he’d come out of that conversation promising to bring her one of Ma’s pies, and he still wasn’t quite sure how that happened.

They’d been exhausted, after all, so he had an excuse. And Ma’s pies were legendary.

Bruce and Diana had drifted off quickly, huddled together against the back wall of the outcropping, while Clark stayed leaning against the opening to watch the rain fall as the storm raged on outside. He liked being able to protect his friends in that tangible way, keeping watch and making sure they were safe.

He’d been too focused at the time to think about the trust that Bruce had displayed for him and Diana, but it was obvious after the fact. He remembered looking back at Bruce and getting caught up in the relaxed rise and fall of his chest, and the soft slant his lips made. The way he slept with his chin tucked close to his neck and the way he faced the opening all through the night, as if he was being vigilant even in his sleep.

He’d looked oddly peaceful, the way he did now, sleeping beside Clark.

Now he was lying on his back, one arm across his stomach and the other slung above his head.

Clark felt his heart contract. Rao, he was sappy this morning. But Bruce was stunning.

“Good morning,” Bruce mumbled, his voice muffled with sleep, and his eyes still closed.

Clark chuckled and leaned back, resting his head on his arm propped up on his pillow. “That it is,” he agreed.

“You know what they say about pictures, Clark.”

“I could probably make Perry and Cat very happy if I took you up on that offer, you know. I can see the headlines now…”

Bruce merely grunted at him, and Clark felt like his smile might break his face.

“Keep smiling like that and your face will stick.”

“How do you know I’m smiling?”

“I can hear it in your voice. It’s soft the way it is when you’re smiling at me.”

He still wasn’t used to Bruce like this. He had to wonder if it was a morning thing, or a thing Bruce planned to keep doing. It wasn’t fair to hope for the latter, not when Bruce was already making a clear effort by staying the night, but Clark had never been very good at denying hope.

“I thought it was bad form to make assumptions,” he teased, glad he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Bruce face, otherwise he might have missed the way the corner of his lips tensed, like he was fighting back a smile.

“It’s not an assumption if I’m right,” Bruce countered. “Are you planning to stare all morning?”

Clark did his damnedest to keep the giddy feeling in his chest out of his voice. He didn’t trust himself, though, and maybe that could have been his excuse for why he leaned further over Bruce, their lips just an inch apart. “I’d be open to alternatives,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

“First time for everything.”

There was really no possible way he could have stopped himself from kissing Bruce when Bruce’s lips finally broke into a grin. He felt the smile against his lips, and knew he was smiling, too. It didn’t make for the most coordinated of morning kisses, but it was better.

Clark laughed softly against Bruce’s cheek when Bruce nudged at his chest. “I think I’ve proven that I’m very open to suggestions.”

Bruce blinked at him slowly. “Am I still asleep, or did you just make a sexual innuendo?”

“Is that something you dream about often?” Clark asked wryly, laughing again when Bruce groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. Bruce turned his head to level a dry look at Clark.

“Are you this pushy every morning?”

_Why don’t you try to find out,_ Clark thought, but didn’t dare to say. Instead, he smiled wider and flopped onto his back. “I didn’t expect you to be this lazy in the morning.”

“Lazy?” Bruce quirked an eyebrow at him, which from this angle, was just adorable. Another thing Clark didn’t dare admit, but he was sure his face said it all because Bruce rolled his eyes. “I’m not being lazy. It’s strategic.”

Clark hummed, pretending to consider that. “What’s the endgame?”

He hadn’t realized the many ways that kind of question could be interpreted until he heard the hesitation before Bruce’s response. “Coffee. And a toothbrush.”

Clark might have had to force out his chuckle, but at least it didn’t sound unnatural. “Hoping to butter me up so I’ll bring you breakfast in bed? I don’t know how much you remember about last night but we aren’t in Wayne Manor.”

A very different kind of smile spread across Bruce’s face as he slid onto his elbow and levered himself above Clark. “I remember enough.”

Clark slid his hands up Bruce’s thighs as he crawled across to straddle Clark’s lap. “I may have missed a few details, feel like giving me a refresher?”

“I think the young people call it a ‘quickie’ these days.”

Clark laughed, and Bruce wasn’t quite able to hide his smile or the laughter in his eyes before kissing the mirth right out of him.

\----

BRUCE

Leaving Clark’s apartment was harder than he anticipated it being. One “refresher” turned into two, which led to a heated kissing session with Clark pressed up against the kitchen counter as the coffee brewed. Unfortunately (or very fortunately), caffeine was useless on Clark and so he had plenty of time to be distracting as Bruce chugged down as much of it as he could and tried not to spill it over himself when Clark nipped at the back of his neck.

The man was a menace.

Bruce had left the building smiling.

_Menace._

If Clark hadn’t needed to get to work, Bruce wasn’t sure they would have left the apartment before noon. He was finding it hard to imagine himself finding an excuse to leave at all if Clark had continued his…encouragement. And by encouragement, he meant the smiles and the laughter and the soft, teasing looks as much as the touching and kissing.

That was…not good. Not good at all.

Neither was Clark’s whispered _I love you_ after sex.

Bruce’s body had all but locked up in self-defense at hearing those words spoken to him like that – gentle, earnest, assured, everything Clark was and Bruce was not. He’d stayed silent, kept his breathing deep and even, praying Clark would still be basking in the afterglow enough to miss the fact Bruce had never been more awake in his life. And he’d been angry when he heard it, too. Angry that Clark knew that was a step Bruce was not prepared to take, and had put it out there anyway, whether or not he thought Bruce could hear. Angry at himself, too, for being angry at a man who…said something like that. One who wanted to say it badly enough he’d resort to midnight whispers. A mass of confused and contradictory feelings felt like they might suffocate Bruce completely. His responses weren’t logical. None of this was.

Distance would help – or at least that was what he told himself as he gripped the steering wheel of the rented car, driving himself out of Metropolis’ city limits. He could have just as easily called a car service to drive him, but he didn’t trust himself to not text Clark on the way if he didn’t have the wheel in his hands.

So instead, he drove, putting the necessary distance between them, and centered his breathing.

He had work to do.

“Nightwing?”

“Bruce, it’s nine in the morning,” Dick groaned over the speaker phone. “I though the one perk we had was not having to be up before at least eleven?”

“You can sleep in when our city isn’t under attack. Bring me up to speed about your progress last night.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he grumbled, but there was minimal shuffling before he answered more awake, “So, there was one weird thing. There were a bunch of dead rats in the alleyway the murdered nurse was found in.”

“Rats.”

“Yep. But that’s not the weird part,” Dick paused, as if waiting for Bruce to prompt him.

Bruce sighed heavily. “What’s the weird part, Dick,” he deadpanned.

“I was so hoping you’d ask. They disappeared. Vanished. Not a trace of them anywhere.”

Bruce felt something like dread at hearing that, but resigned himself to it. “I understand the meaning of the word disappeared. When did it happen?”

“Right under the cop’s noses, literally. Officer Kelley reported that he’d been looking at them one moment, and then by the time he blinked all that was left was your typical alleyway litter.”

That certainly classified as weird. “And?”

“And I got Babs to run one of her less-than-legal background check on the nurse. Nothing sketchy in her past, not so much as a dunk picture posted to Facebook. She was wholly unproblematic. So, obviously, we tried to get the CCTV and retrace her steps, she if she’d been chased or dropped something that could give us an idea of why she’d been murdered in the exact same way as the dock hand, trash collector, and Odessa thug.”

“Let me guess: nothing.”

“Bingo. CCTV’s been wiped. The system doesn’t even show it as an error, and no action had been logged for over a week. They run logs automatically, it’s all an algorithm meant to run without human interference, so if someone did tamper with it, they would have had to had intimate, prior knowledge of it. It’s not like the algorithm for all of Gotham’s security cameras is open to the public.

“And Barbara’s running theory?”

“She won’t make one yet, but she’s working out a way to find out what’s been done to the recordings.”

“Good. I’ll get in touch with Commissioner Gordon tonight.”

“I’d say that’s a good idea.” There was another pause. “Bruce?”

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s just…when have we ever been lucky enough for something like this to be your run-of-the-mill serial killing?”

\----

CLARK

It was bright out, the sun shining in his eyes as he landed on the perfectly manicured lawn of Wayne Manor. Alfred was trimming hedges in his evergreen apron, gardening gloves, and sun hat, humming along to a tune Clark didn’t know.

“Good morning Master Clark, would you care to lend a hand?” the butler called out over his shoulder, following the sound of Clark’s feet crunching down on the gravel path. He was kneeling in front of the hedges with a trowel and clippers in his hands.

“Not at all, Alfred. What do you need?”

“Just lift that bird bath. At the moment, I’m afraid I don’t have quite enough hands.”

“Can do!” Clark complied, easily lifting the stone as Alfred quickly tended the ground around it.

“Master Wayne has never once required my approval, nor has he asked for it, but he has it all the same,” Alfred said conversationally.

Clark was taken aback. So much so that he could only stand there holding up the bird bath, dumbly staring at Alfred as the man stood and dusted off his apron. “Oh. Shouldn’t you…isn’t that something you should tell Bruce?”

Alfred raised a brow at him. “Master Bruce is not the one who needed to hear it. He knows it quite well.”

“Oh,” Clark repeated. “So. You…know?” _Eloquent as ever, Kent._ He couldn’t remember Bruce ever mentioning having told Alfred about the two of them. For Clark, it was an unspoken thing that they should figure out what they were for themselves before trying to explain it to anyone else. They hadn’t really had a good opportunity to discuss it. Well, maybe that wasn’t so true, but they certainly hadn’t discussed it yet, regardless.

Did Bruce want to tell people? Clark was struck with a question that might have been brewing in the back of his mind for a while: _Do_ I _want to tell people?_ As much as he tried to set it aside, now that he had thought the words, he couldn’t quite shake them. Not when he so clearly knew the answer.

Alfred took pity on him by not reacting to the look on Clark’s face. “I have known Master Wayne all his life,” Alfred said. “I have known him through every one of his worst moments, and his very best. It would be impossible for me to _not_ notice a change in him, sir.”

Clark snapped back out of his own thoughts and frowned. “Change? Is something wrong?”

Alfred visibly paused, and then gave Clark a small, kind smile as he stepped forward to place a hand to Clark’s shoulder. “No, Master Clark, I really don’t believe there is.”

\----

Bruce was hunched over his work station, typing away at his computer without so much as blinking as he scanned the monitor with a frown on his face. “Clark,” he greeted with little more than a grunt.

“I’m surprised you noticed I’m here,” Clark teased.

“Subtlety is not your forte.”

Clark snorted. “I’ve scared Lois more than a few times once she’s gotten into a project. Whatever you’re doing here certainly looks like an attention-worthy project.”

“Miss Lane throws all of her attention into her work,” Bruce replied distractedly, clicking the mouse one last time before shoving back from the desk to face Clark. “Why are you here?”

Clark ignored the blunt question. “In defense of my subtlety, I feel I should remind you that you didn’t pick up on my feelings for you right away. That’s gotta count for _some_ measure of skill.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Will that be your go-to argument every time? Because I feel the need to remind _you_ that you also had no idea of my feelings toward you _._ ”

Clark held up his hands. “I never claimed to be able to read you like an open book. We all know you’re a locked box of shadowy intrigue.”

Bruce huffed and spun his chair back around to face his monitors. “You know me better than most.” He may have said it quietly, in a tone bordering on petulant, but Clark heard the admission for what it was. Bruce said it like a statement of fact, which it _was_ , but it was something else entirely to hear the words from the man himself. He walked around to lean on the back of Bruce’s chair, but he didn’t doubt that Bruce knew he was smiling wider than before. Bruce knew him best, too, but Clark knew better than to push his luck by saying that out loud.

“What are you working on today?”

Bruce sighed. “Nothing groundbreaking. There’s a near-palpable hush around the Luthor name, which is not only a tip-off in and of itself, but an annoyance in terms of intelligence gathering on the street level. The usual wells are dry, so I’ve needed to go out of my way.”

Clark wasn’t sure what it was, but something told him that wasn’t the whole story. He frowned, scanning the screens around them. There were names and faces, products and multiple drug brands that Clark didn’t recognize, but it was the street address that caught his eye. It kept popping up. “What about that,” Clark pointed out. “What’s significant about that location?”

“Nothing, as of now. There were whispers it was being used in gang related activity, but it’s been checked and found empty of anything of interest to us.”

Clark paused. “Is there something you’re not saying?”

Bruce didn’t pause, but he might as well have. “They have a significant rat problem.” The joke, if it was one, did not land.

Clark stood up, crossing his arms and scanning the screens again with his uncanny speed before Bruce could shut it down. “Murders?”

“The evidence that they were related was non-conclusive.” As expected, Bruce typed out a code and the screens wiped clean to an image of the bat-symbol. Clark pretended like that action didn’t kick up a warning flag in the back of his head. “Like I said, nothing substantial.”

Clark bit back comment on how that sounded like more of a corporate work-around than an answer. “I thought we’d be working together on this?”

Bruce gathered stray pieces of tech from around his workspace and stood, carrying them off and walking right past Clark. “I don’t see how that’s necessary. There’s been no further action, and I’m working on it.”

Clark followed him, not willing to let it go. “You think the kryptonite gas was intended for you, then?” His voice dripped with falsely innocent sarcasm.

“This isn’t a problem you can punch into submission or toss out into the stratosphere.”

“I do have other skills, aside from the punching and tossing. I can jump real high, and run _really_ fast…”

“I get your point.” Bruce bit back.

“So, you’ll let me know if anything changes?”

Bruce didn’t answer right away.

“ _Bruce,_ ” Clark implored, exasperated by that point. “You’ll contact me, right? This isn’t just one of Gotham’s or the Bat’s enemies we’re talking about here. The warehouse robots were an attack on Superman, meaning my people are just as involved as yours. You can’t expect me to stand idle while you do all the digging, just like I don’t expect you to step back and give me the lead, despite the very relevant fact that the robots were built with me in mind. Why don’t we cut out the part where we argue and just skip ahead to where we work together on this?”  

Bruce studied him – arms crossed over his chest, and his legs a shoulder’s width apart – unmoving. He blinked, and Clark was just about ready to scream into a pillow. “I will contact you when I find something useful.”

Neither of them smiled, but it was enough like a victory that Clark felt the strain in his shoulders dissipate. “Do I need to get a pinky promise out of you to seal the deal?”

The withering glance he earned for that was worth it, if only because it released the remaining tension in the room. “Don’t push it.”

“Oh, come on,” Clark teased, spreading out his arms as Bruce strode to the other end of the table. “This is what we do. Working together – isn’t that the whole point?” There was more seriousness behind the statement than Clark was letting on. He hoped he wasn’t wrong, that he wasn’t reading the changes to their relationship the wrong way. Physical intimacy was one thing – seeing each other more often, late night rendezvous, and the like – but Clark had hoped for more than that. And after all, trust and communication were very different beasts. Especially with Bruce. He could trust someone to lead a team competently, but that didn’t mean he’s trust them with what he considered _his_ problem.

Bruce must have picked up on Clark’s lingering doubts though, because he walked back over, stopping directly in front of Clark to straighten out the collar of Clark’s shirt in silence. That gesture alone was enough.

Clark smiled, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist, effectively trapping him. Bruce raised a brow but didn’t move away. Clark didn’t give voice to his concerns, the niggling doubts, but he didn’t think he needed to. It turned out he was right.

“I would argue that it’s at least eight-five percent of the point of this,” Bruce said simply. It was as much an acquiescence as it was an olive branch. Clark could live with that.

“And the other fifteen?”

“Negotiable.”

When Clark laughed, the still line of Bruce’s mouth shifted into a small smile, and Clark felt Bruce’s body relax against his own just that little bit more. Clark intertwined and locked his fingers together behind Bruce’s back and heard him sigh.

The _L_ word was right there on the tip of his tongue, the biggest and brightest elephant in the room, but Clark kept it down. His heart and mind were thrumming with the feeling of Bruce, of having him in his arms, or his smile and his bright blue eyes. He was utterly lost in it, for a moment.

He felt the scrape of stubble against his cheek, and it was second nature to turn his head just so to meet Bruce’s lips. The kiss was soft and slow, like they had all the time in the world. For Clark, it was a confession. It was the feeling he knew he couldn’t say out loud, not yet, not without risking damage to this thing that was still so new for the both of them, but especially for Bruce. So instead, he pulled Bruce tighter, kissed him deep and let their breaths mingle close in the small space left between them in the short pauses.

But kissing Bruce was like coaxing a fire, and soon Bruce’s hands were in Clark’s hair, tugging and roaming, drawing groans out of Clark and setting them both alight.

Inhumanly quick, Clark dropped his hands to lift Bruce off his feet, hands gripping the maddening curve of his ass and thighs, and carried Bruce back to set him on the table.

Bruce’s pupils were blown wide and Clark felt Bruce’s arousal twitch against where it was pressed to his stomach. He was looking at Clark with a hunger and an awe that Clark almost didn’t believe, but _oh_ , how he wanted to.

Bruce pulled Clark in with his hands fisting in Clark’s shirt, his legs wrapped around Clark’s thighs, grinding against Clark’s stomach with a sound that was almost a growl. “Want you.”

Was it sad that two words could completely ruin him so completely?

“ _Anything._ ”

Clark found he didn’t care either way.

He moved to nip at the side of Bruce’s neck and then pulled Bruce’s hands from his shirt and sank to his knees just as Bruce was about to protest. Clark watched his mouth fall open and just hang there, and he couldn’t help but grin.

\----

BRUCE

When Clark left, hours later, Bruce returned his spot in front of the monitors and sat. For a moment he did nothing else, knowing before he reopened the screen what he would see, and despite all his training and belief in the objective truth…he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want what he knew to be confirmed, rather.

And he’d known it, of course he had. His luck had never gone so far as to leave strings of seemingly unconnected murders, arms deals, warehouses, radioactive rats – all happening in the same places time and time again – and have not a single aspect correlate.

Vanessa Brown. Twenty-four years old. Working as RN for Metropolis General for the past year, and as an intern at Met. Gen. a year before that. Enrolled as a medical student on the doctoral track, specializing in Pediatrics.

She’d been working the day Clark was put in the hospital. Wouldn’t have been anywhere near the fourth floor any other day, but she had filled in for another RN, Frank Daniels, last minute. She was cited by her superiors as intelligent, tenacious, and a likely candidate for Residency, should she choose to stay in Metropolis.

Brown was pronounced dead upon police arrival at the scene at 11:59 PM, December 13th.

There had been an inquiry into her records reported two days previous – heavily redacted. It was an unusual move for a civilian hospital, even one as large as Met. Gen. To any general viewer, it could have been explained away as a routine procedure for court related cases, protecting sensitive information before a trial. But it wasn’t.

Vanessa Brown had nothing but one parking ticket on her record and was otherwise inconsequential as far as the law was concerned, prior to December 13th.

Someone had tracked down the one nurse who had been in proximity to Superman, and now she was dead in Gotham.

He pulled up the other murder cases, and their stories told such dissimilar lives that no one would have thought they were related. A lawyer. A sanitation worker. An addict. An ex-convict. A therapist. An accountant. There were small areas of overlap in their daily lives, chances they could have met or seen each other at one point or another over the course of their lives, but each instance was unlikely. Not only was the Odessa Mob not involved in any of the other cases, but the perpetrators were from different factions of Gotham’s underground – some completely non-gang-affiliated.

And then, the connections were glaring.

The lawyer was cited as a witness to Metallo incident. The sanitation worker had given a statement confirming that he had seen two capes, one flying into the sky and the other disappearing across a rooftop. The addict, ex-con, therapist, accountant seemed different, at first, until Bruce cross referenced their names with the GPD and MPD databases. Reports of Superman and Batman working together matched up with witness and victim statements from each of them. For everyone, Bruce found his own reports in his personal log that confirmed he’d been there, crushing the small chance that the witnesses had been mistaken or lying.

Bruce flattened his palms on the arms of the chair to keep his nails from digging grooves into his palms.

It wasn’t that he had been expecting a coincidence, or that he hadn’t prepared himself for the worst outcome from the beginning. It was the too-familiar feeling of hating that he’d been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at them, avoiding deeper issues and making out instead. Adorable. Unfortunately, Tim eats at that table sometimes. He’s lucky he didn’t have to see that.
> 
> meganmazing on tumblr


	3. When There is Nothing Left to Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has known this day would come. Clark wanted to believe it wouldn't have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fire in this chapter is considerably less steamy than before. 
> 
> This is a short chapter in comparison, but for Reasons.

CLARK

When Bruce failed to show up like they’d planned, Clark had been concerned. Well, he’d been _concerned_ once hour two of sitting alone at the restaurant rolled around. Now, after a handful of unanswered messages over text, calls, and even the JL comm, Clark didn’t think the red flag could get any bigger. Had anyone else stood him up, he would have gone home and called them tomorrow to hash it out.

But this was not anyone else. This was Mr. Punctuality, Mr. My-Schedules-Are-The-Fabric-Of-The-Universe. And even if this was a one-off thing where one thing had led to another and Bruce hadn’t been able to show, Clark liked to think Bruce respected him enough to give him a heads-up if he could. Or, at the very least, delegate that task to one of the kids.

So what Clark was left with were two options: Bruce couldn’t, meaning trouble, and _wouldn’t_ , which possibly meant even more trouble. If he was wrong, Clark reasoned, Bruce could bitch at him for being overbearing as much as he liked. The thing was, Clark had a good feeling he wasn’t wrong.

Dick picked up Clark’s call on the second ring. “Supes, how’s it hangin’?”

“Oh, nothing much. You wouldn’t happen to know which sector Batman’s patrolling, would ya?”

“Batman? Uh, as far as I know he isn’t patrolling tonight. Robin, Batgirl, and I are the only ones out.”

Red flag number two. “Nightwing, if you know something…”

“Ah, one sec,” the line was filled with muffled sounds of fighting. Dick had taken his call during a _fight_? Clark wasted no time getting into his suit, switching the call from his phone to a comm.

“Dick, talk to me. I know he’s out there, I just need to know where.”

Dick groaned, his voice fading on the line as if he’d pulled it away from his ear.

“Come on, Dick, we don’t have time for this,” Clark demanded, losing what little patience he had left. 

“He can’t help you, but I can.” Barbara’s voice chimed in without any static warning whatso ever. Clark wished he had half the talent with tech that she did.

“Barbara?”

“It’s Oracle during business hours, Superman,” she corrected, her voice sounding too nervous to come across smug. “You’re lucky this line is secure.”

Clark cut to the chase: “Where did he go? Are you on another line with him?”

“Not anymore. I wouldn’t even be talking with you if his comm hadn’t gone into a dead zone. I still shouldn’t, probably, but it’s been forty minutes and counting without any sign of life. I’m doing everything I can on my end, watching the warehouse—”

“Warehouse? In Gotham?”

“Sending the address to you now,” she said, sounding unsure. “He’ll kill me for involving you after putting a gag order on us, but…”

Clark was more than ready to punch something. Preferably not Bruce, but the temptation was certainly there. “I know. You made the right call, no matter what he tells you. Thank you, Oracle.”

“Aw, it’s nice to feel appreciated.”

“I tell you thanks all the time!” Dick argued, jumping back in.

“‘ _Nightwing_ , _out_ ,’ is not a thank you.” Clark switched off the comm to end their banter and rolled back his shoulders. Annoyance didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling, but it would do. He shot off into the sky and wondered at the hope he’d desperately held on to that somehow, someway, this time it would have been different.

He was halfway there before he caught Kara’s scream.

\----

BRUCE

“Luthor,” Batman grunted.

“Batman. Always a pleasure,” Luthor said, his words dripping with false admiration. Bruce’s stomach churned. The inside of his mouth was still bloody from the hit that knocked him out, his right leg smarted every time he flexed, and there would probably be a sizeable concussion waiting for him when he got the chance to think about it, but that was all minor. Luthor, or one of his agents, had merely moved him here, and done nothing else. Every instinct Bruce had told him this was _wrong_. It was too theatrical, the way Luthor paced in front of him, a row of armed guards lining the back wall of the otherwise empty warehouse room.

They were putting on a show here, and it wasn’t for his benefit.

It had started with a wild leap that the device J’onn had given him years ago – after Jakeem Thunderbolt and his genie were inducted into the League on a case-by-case basis – would be able to detect evidence of fifth dimension activity nearly a week old.

Bruce had tried Zatana first, but she had been able to offer little help. The chance of week-old magic leaving a trace for something as small as vanishing a pile of dead rats was slim at most, and she didn’t think knowing magic had been done would offer him any real help, though she had admitted that some magic requires payment, and certain magic took easiest to blood.

But he had seen other ways, non-magical but equally infuriating, of accomplishing a goal without leaving a human trace. Ways like _wishing_. Or, to be precise, employing techniques from another dimension that were impossible for anyone in this one to fathom.   

If an imp was involved, there was no telling with their plan might be. The only thing Bruce knew for certain was that he and Clark were at the center of it, and while it didn’t narrow down the possibilities of imps that decided to have their fun with the third dimension, it did increase the likelihood of it being a very particular imp with a penchant for Superman. For that reason, he’d done his best to keep Clark at bay without causing suspicion too quickly. Clark was one of the smartest people Bruce had ever known, it was inevitable that he would figure it out sooner or later, but Bruce was banking on late. At least enough time for him to figure out if his worst fears had been right all along.   

He hadn’t gotten the chance to test his theory in the alleyway the rats disappeared from before he noticed a group of men entering the semi-destroyed warehouse that the kryptonite robots had attacked weeks ago. Bruce had kept tabs on it, and no potential buyers had so much as made an inquiry into the sale since the attack. He followed, suspecting the Odessa Mob, or Luthor’s own hires, were making another move.   

What he hadn’t expected was Luthor doing his own dirty work. And now, he was tied with his limbs spread out in four directions, tight enough to stretch the tired muscles in his arms and thighs. He’d been knocked unconscious shortly after an EMP blast had taken out most his tech. He seemed to still be within the same warehouse he had entered but had no idea how much time had passed.

Bruce knew Luthor had funded deliveries here and there out of shell companies but seeing him here in the flesh was a surprise. In his experience, surprises from men like that were never good.

Lex Luthor circled closer, ascending the three steps up to the dais where Batman was immobile. All he could do was clench his fists. The restraints were too thick for Bruce to break free of on his own. If he could get Luthor talking, the megalomaniac would pace, and Bruce might be able to fidget enough to trigger the laser in his glove.

“Why put me out on display without an audience?”

Luthor smiled, wide and cruel. “I could rip that mask from your face right now.” He took three steps forward, hands behind his back. “You would be powerless to stop me.” Two more steps. Now Luthor was close enough that his breath puffed out and hit the exposed skin of Bruce’s face. “That scares you, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t scare me, Luthor. You’d have to be a threat to scare me.”

His smirk sharpened, and his eye were bright as he laughed, loud, like he was again putting on a show for a crowd. Then he went silent and reached out to flick one of the cowl’s ears. “I don’t care who you are under that mask. You’re irrelevant to me, and soon you will be nothing but a ghost story to scare the vermin of that cesspool they like to call a city. _Gotham_. Don’t make me laugh.”

He turned away, and Bruce felt around with his closed fist for the trigger just under his palm. “I thought you’d given up on the robot angle.”

“I have.”

“And yet, they were yours.” He didn’t need to elaborate. Everything he had seen getting here was evidence enough that Luthor had been running this scheme from the beginning, but not alone.

“They tell me you’re the world’s best detective; now I can see how _right_ they are.”

Luthor was baiting him, but that was what Bruce wanted. He played into it, knowing it was better to humor men like Luthor when one wanted to distract them. “Why not claim credit outright? Why the warehouse in Gotham?”

Luthor spun around on his heels, gloating. “Maybe _they_ were wrong about you, after all. I mean, really, _Batman_ , it’s simple mathematics. Find the common denominator.”

Batman had already done that weeks ago. “Your obsession with Superman is nothing new.”

Luthor was pacing now, but he seemed to be waiting on something. “You’re thinking on a small scale, Batman. A pity, really. I had hoped for better.”

Suddenly, the metal door to Bruce’s left flew open with a bang as it slammed into the wall, revealing a green haired mad-man with an obnoxiously large gun. Joker. “BATSY, you’re never this talkative with me – I’m crushed! I really am! I’m wounded, you can see it on my face, can’t you, Lexxy?”

“Working with the criminally insane now, Luthor?” Bruce deadpanned.

Luthor smirked, not unlike a cruel boy setting fire to ants with a magnifying glass. “So says the man who enjoys dressing up like a bat and fighting an endless wave of petty crime night in, night out. By Gotham’s standards, the Joker is a Nobel Laureate.”

“You see, Bats?” Joker exclaimed, swinging the gun around in heavy arcs. “Proper recognition! That’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know.”

“What you want is chaos.”

“Weeell, that too,” Joker conceded, giggling manically with his eyes trained coldly on Batman.

“Enough banter, Joker. Were you successful?”

“All work and no play makes Baldy a dull boy. Careful Lexxy, I was getting to that.” Joker sauntered up the dais, plopping down at Batman’s restrained feet, one knee propped up and a hand over his forehead like a fainting damsel in distress. “I’m afraid your present isn’t as neatly wrapped up as mine here is.”

Luthor raised his chin, grinning in satisfaction. “When should we be expecting the delivery.”

Joker inspected a nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Oh…I’d say no more than a minute? He’s quite testy, your boy-toy. But I suppose they’re always _more fun_ when they’re angry.”

Luthor ignored him, turning with his hands in his pockets to face the door. “You wondered about my audience, Batman? Never fear. He will be just in time for the main event.” He clicked a button on a small, silver remote held in his hand, and for a moment red beams of light appeared before the dais before shifting to a form of light outside the visible spectrum. More traps. Predictable.

“What did you do, Joker?”

“Me? Oh, nothing, nothing at all. It’s the kryptonite bomb Supergirl can’t disarm who’s doing the do around here.”

Kara.

Joker cackled. “Isn’t it fun? My favorite little _make-them-choose_ game, but this time we _count_ on the fact he’ll be able to get to both! Winners all around the board!”

There was little doubt left in Bruce’s mind as to what would happen next, to who would be coming. His blood boiled at the realization that he had been right the entire time. About everything. He didn’t have long to stew on that fact before the telltale shockwave of Superman’s super-speed rocketed through the space around them.

The dark of the room shattered in the next instant, along with most of the roof, as a bright red blur crashed though. It rammed into Joker, knocking the weapon to the floor in a clatter nearly drowned out by the sound of fabric tearing through the air.

Joker fell to the floor as the dust and debris cleared, unceremoniously constricted by the pipping that had been ripped from wall above him. Joker laughed and laughed, despite being unable to get up, or maybe because of it – you could never really tell with him.

Then, Superman stood just before the sensors he must have seen in his initial swoop (Bruce tried not to feel proud about Clark’s forethought, but his ego was one size too big to stop himself entirely). Bruce almost said, “ _I don’t need rescuing_ ,” but the look on Clark’s face stopped him.

His eyes were cold fury.

Pure, barely restrained, and utterly terrifying.

Very few times had Bruce been truly afraid of Superman, but in that moment, had he been in Lex’s shoes, had that cold fire been directed at him, he would have been terrified.

“Turn it off before I do,” Superman bellowed, his entire body still as stone. The only sound in the room now was Joker’s inane cackle.

“Why would I do that, when it’s the only thing keeping you from snapping my neck? Oh, that’s right. You have that infernal moral compass, don’t you? You wouldn’t kill me if you had the chance to. Not like I’d kill _him_.”

With Luthor so distracted, Bruce was able to free his feet. As Luthor prattled on about his plan, Bruce swung up silently, hoisting himself up with his arms to the rafters above, where the chains had been. Joker just laughed louder, but no one aside from Bruce noticed. The only thing Bruce still didn’t understand was Joker’s stake in this. Odessa, he understood. Arms dealers looking to make a bigger name for themselves in the crime realm. For Joker, it might have been to finally take down Batman, or simply humiliate him, but the loon seemed to care even less than usual about everything happening around him. He was practically spectating.

“You thought you could make me choose between saving Supergirl and saving Batman?” Superman demanded, his threatening tone riling Luthor’s ego further.

Bruce’s mind was roaring with the new information, all thoughts of the Joker pushed to the side. Kara had been in danger. The pieces clicked painfully into place. His and Clark’s relationship would always bring collateral damage in its wake. It would always be a weapon used against them. Adding insult to injury, Bruce had _seen_ this coming. He’d just been too blinded by his own selfish desire to do anything about it.

He had outright refused to fully accept the consequences of allowing himself to care for Clark. But he could deal with that later, for now, there was a bomb set to detonate and no one could predict how long they would be able to keep Luthor distracted.

“I cannot match your strength without my technology,” Luthor was saying, “but to attack where you are weakest is child’s play. You’re _soft_ , Superman. That is why you will lose in the end, no matter how many times you postpone the inevitable.”

“From where I’m standing, you’re the one looking like a man who has lost.” Superman took a dangerous step forward. “You came for me. You wanted to get to _me,_ so you used my teammates against me? My family? You can talk all you want about my moral compass, Luthor, but you’ve crossed the line. Now, it’s my turn.”

“Shoot them,” Luthor ordered. Bruce watched as the grunts moved in perfect synchronization, unnaturally so. His mind flashed back to the man on the boat, but he didn’t have the luxury of studying them closely as he did his best to evade their shots and climb at the same time.

Superman’s head snapped up, searing the metal beams above Luthor’s head, making them fall. Luthor had just barely enough time to dive out of the way before it crashed down, fracturing the structure of the dais. The metal remote was still clutched in his hand when Superman turned his red gaze toward it.

Luthor screamed.

The remote shattered.

The trap flashed red for an instant before shorting out.

Bruce cursed silently, making his way as quickly as he could to the bomb held aloft above him. There was no telling if the destruction of the remote would set it off prematurely. Superman may have doomed them all in his rage.

He was speaking to Luthor below, but Bruce forced himself to shut them out as he scaled to the rafters, his shoulders screaming and his vision blurring in and out dangerously around the edges. He may have been more seriously injured than he thought, but it was too late to reconsider.

There was a group of incoming guards though the broken door, a wild spray of bullets that were useless against Clark, but not so useless against Batman largely unprotected in the rafters. Dodging was nearly impossible as he maneuvered around the last of the beams.

He heard the bullets pierce though his cape, felt some of them hitting the Kevlar on his back even as few hit weaker material and dented it enough to break skin.

Bruce knew he was bleeding in a bad way. Even if he hadn’t, the way his eyes struggled to focus was proof enough of significant blood loss. But there had been worse moments in battle than this – Luthor and his men were no real comparison to Darkseid, after all – and he pushed through the pain like shifting sand.

He reached the device as Luthor’s broken laugh cut through the sounds of fighting, stopping the gunfire. “How many minutes are left, Batman? Three? Less?” he called out. “How many more until you fall to your death?”

Bruce ignored him, quickly taking out the scanner, and feeling his stomach drop when he saw the stone glow pink. Prying open the outer panels of the device to get a look inside, he had to assume the tech in there was also fifth dimension, or altered by it, because it looked entirely foreign. At best, he infered it was some kind a nuclear weapon, but a much larger one than he had anticipated, with a substance that looked terrifyingly enough like kryptonite sealed in around it. There were no connections, no wires, only smooth, radioactive panels and green crystal.

And then the timer in the center, blinking red numbers at him. It couldn’t be too late to evacuate, Luthor would never risk his own life in such a way, never. Luthor was too self-absorbed to ever risk something as precious as himself.... But he hadn’t lied.

00:02:30.

00:02:29

That was hardly enough time to figure out how to disarm it, not when he knew nothing of what contact with the fifth dimension could do to a weapon like this. There was too large a risk that smashing it would cause it to go off, and even if there was a chance that it wouldn’t, Luthor was too smart to leave a bomb around Superman without some sort of failsafe.

“Batman?” Superman questioned, floating by his side at the first mention of the bomb.

Bruce looked up and had only a split second to stare into Clark’s face before the other man hefted the bomb into the air, ripping away the chains that secured it to the rafters. There was no time for goodbyes or good luck as Clark shot up through the roof again, creating a larger hole this time as he cradled the deadly weapon.

Bruce allowed himself less than half a minute more to trace the red and blue spec through the clouds before he dropped down with a deafening _bang,_ to Luthor. His legs shook, and his vision swam again, but his training ensured no one knew it but himself.

Luthor had the gall to smile though his split lip. Clark had hit him, but not hard enough to knock him unconscious. Bruce supposed there had to be some small mercy left for him on a day like today.

“So, the Dark Knight works alone once aga-”

Bruce smashed his ungloved fist straight into Luthor’s face before the man could finish. Luthor’s head snapped back violently, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor.

Joker laughed from his bound position off to the side as Bruce heard his comm system buzz back to life.

“ _Lantern,”_ Batman ordered over the JL comm. “Nuclear weapon inbound above quadrant six. _Now_.”

There was a muffled curse from the other end and multiple members of the League listened in for further information, but Rayner responded with a quick “On it,” and as soon as he had that conformation, Bruce shut his device off.

His head was still spinning from the drop as he made his way over to inspect the remnants of broken remote and call in the Gotham P.D. to pick up their missing prisoner. He didn’t doubt Luthor would get out on some far-fetched coercement defense, but he would at least be guaranteed the night’s stay in a cell before his lawyers and money pulled him out.

Tapping the second comm in his mask: “Oracle.”

“Batman!” she immediately exclaimed, half in a sigh. “You went into a dead zone for nearly two hours, how is that even possible?”

“Luthor. And Joker. Tell the team to stay on high alert and notify me immediately at so much as a _hint_ of a lead.”

“No hope at getting something out of Luthor?”

Bruce paused. “He’s unconscious.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you need me to send in the others?”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Transport?”

“Unnecessary. Move Huntress’s patrol south, I’ll be stepping in tonight.”

Oracle paused. “Okay, but uh, didn’t you have…plans? Tonight?”

Bruce stifled a frustrated sigh and grunted out a quick, “ _No_.”

Barbara had worked with him long enough now to know when to back off, so she quickly signed off, leaving him to his thoughts once again.

He would wait for Jim to arrive on the scene, then set out for another patrol. He needed to see if any thugs of Joker’s or Luthor’s were still fouling up his city. He hoped they would be, because right at that moment he needed to _hit_ something that deserved it. He would not think about Clark or spend worry over his safety. Superman and Green Lantern had their situation handled.

There was work to be done now that he knew for certain that this was only the beginning.

\----

CLARK

By the time he returned to Earth after disposing of the bomb with Kyle and soaking up some of the yellow sun’s rays to heal, over a day’s time had passed.

He was all rage as he landed on the grounds of Wayne manor. His cape was gone, suit hardly recognizable with the heavy burns and scorched leftovers of material that covered his body like a second skin. He had the smell of it entrenched in his senses, the adrenalin still pumping through his veins, but this couldn’t be put off.

Clark could feel the residual weakness in his muscles with every step across the lawn, the painful plea from his joints on impact, telling him to lie down and shut off for the night. Felt it and ignored it. He heard Bruce in his room, changing into looser clothing. The smell of his aftershave seared through Clark’s senses as he leaped up onto the balcony, hitting the surface loud enough to draw attention.

Clark waited silently for Bruce to open the door. Bruce took his time – maybe to make a point – but when he finally pushed it open, the man’s face was a perfect mask of indifference. It was only because Clark had seen that look before, and had seen what it led to, that he knew Bruce was angry, too.

What right did _Bruce_ have to be angry?

“How did you know?” Clark asked stiffly, his emotions running too hot to be surprised at the eerie levelness of his own tone.

Inside, he was anything but calm. His mind and heart were warring; part angry and betrayed that Bruce had hidden something from him and gone ahead with secret plans, and part relieved that Bruce was safe and in one piece, if a bit worse for the ware. Clark had catalogued what he could see of Bruce’s injuries in during the confrontation, but now he could see the dark blotches decorating the exposed sections of skin, and the gauze wrapped underneath the loose, white undershirt.

Some of those marks could have been avoided. All it would have taken was a handful of words. One warning. A goddammed text.

Clark wanted to hit something and _yell,_ but at the same time he wanted to press his lips to every inch of Bruce to ensure himself that Bruce really was all right. He’d been scared under all his anger when he’d seen Bruce strung up in that warehouse. It was one thing to trust a man’s capabilities implicitly, and quite another to not react emotionally, regardless. Bruce had lied, kept secrets from Clark again, and Clark, for the life of him, could not separate Batman’s decision from Bruce’s. He wanted to hold Bruce in his arms and demand to know what the _hell_ he had been thinking. He wanted to demand to know, “ _why the hell would you_ do _that to me_ ” _,_ while he had Bruce’s head in his hands, so that Bruce couldn’t look away, so that he couldn’t hide more of himself.

But Clark did none of those things. Instead, he stood with his arms folded tight across his chest and waited for an answer as Bruce draped a damp towel over the back of a chair.

“What would you like me to say?”

 _Are you fucking kidding…_ “I’d like you to explain to me what that was, for a start.” He knew the answer, and he wasn’t sure if that made the hurt better or worse.

“A disaster is what that was.” The way Bruce said it was off, somehow. Something in the tone and stiff posture of his shoulders that shouldn’t have been there.

Clark frowned, unable to place it. “Are you…blaming _me_?” he asked slowly.

“Not entirely.”

“Not _entirely_ ,” Clark repeated. “You’ll have to excuse me; I think I’m a little behind here. Since when have you had this all figured out?”

“Not long.”

“How long is not long, Bruce?” Clark exhaled, one heartbeat away from throwing his hands in the air out of pure exasperation. Why did the simplest of questions always have to lead into a battle for the truth?

Bruce crossed his arms too, and it set off an irrational spark of irritation in Clark. “I had initial suspicions about three days days ago.”

Clark almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Three days? He almost didn’t want to do the mental math, but it was impossible not to. “Before or after you came to my apartment that night?” He didn’t need to specify. Bruce could say whatever he wanted, mask whatever emotion he deemed unworthy, Clark had _seen_ his face that morning. Had felt the difference in the way Bruce touched him – something important had happened between them. Something new…

There was a pause during which the urge to yell came back in full force, but Clark kept silent, hoping patience would win out in the end. It had to. He’d been nothing but patient – if it truly got him nowhere in the end, Clark might finally lose it.

“Before.”

Before. Of course it was _before_ , and why had Clark expected anything less? The things about that night that hadn’t made sense were slowly clicking into place. Bruce’s unexpected visit now had a motive behind it, and his mood, a clear origin point. The realization made Clark’s stomach churn. How much of that night was just in reaction to what he’d learned about Luthor and the Joker?

Bruce Wayne never did anything without reason. That night had been no exception. It was, all and always, calculated.

Bruce continued speaking, but Clark didn’t have it in him to be grateful for it. He turned his back as Bruce spoke, unable to look Bruce in the eye as he replayed the details of that night over and over in his mind. “It was only a hunch, but that hunch played out. Once I knew without a doubt Luthor was the one pulling the strings, I followed the lead. I did my job and it lead me back to that warehouse in Gotham. _My_ city.”

He could hear the supposed justification in Bruce’s voice and it was suddenly too much, _too much,_ for Clark to keep bottled up any longer.

Clark whirled on Bruce, hand outstretched behind him, pointing out into the night.

“You went in there, knowing it would be a fight. _Knowing_ I wanted to be involved the moment you found anything at all. But you didn’t give a damn when it came down to it, did you? All that talk about being part of a team, about being partners, about working together being the whole point of this, was it all just you telling me what I wanted to hear? Did it mean anything to you?” Clark pressed. “You still kept your secrets – the way you’ve always done – while sleeping right beside me.” Clark scoffed.

“You know me, Bruce,” he continued, feeling like he was seconds away from laughter, though none of this was funny. “You know me _so well_ , and you used every ounce of that knowledge against me, didn’t you? Well I know you just as thoroughly. You’re selfish. You’re conceited. You can’t stand it for just _one second_ that someone might do something you hadn’t planned on, something you can’t predict, so you take away their choice before they have a chance to make it. You always need to be the one in control, the one pulling all the strings. Well, bull _shit_. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“Your _impulse_ to come rushing in like someone’s knight in shining armor could have gotten everyone killed, today,” Bruce argued back, voice dropping close enough to his Batman one that Clark almost wasn’t sure there was a difference. “Not only yourself, you could have gotten Kara killed, too. All your power, your strength, and where has it gotten you? You still come in swinging blindly, hoping for the best.”

“Yes, Kara could have gotten hurt! And I would have known to warn her – known that I even had something to protect her from – had you been honest with me for one _tiny_ second about what was going on. How can we ever be prepared for things when you keep insisting on keeping me in the dark? I might not have gotten to see her grow the way you have with Dick, she’s not my daughter the way Dick is your son, but that does _not_ mean I love her any less, or that her safety is any less important to me.”

“I wouldn’t have had to keep anything from you if I hadn’t known you’d run in, guns blazing, the second you knew Luthor was coming for us.”

“And what did you do, Bruce? You went in there, _alone._ Sure, you had Barbara in your ear, but only under orders not to tell anyone. The moment she said that, I knew exactly what happened. We were flying blind today because you refused to tell anyone the full story behind what was going on. That’s not how a team operates.”

“Stop seeking validation from me, Clark, you won’t find it,” Bruce spat. “As for the question of whether I told you what you wanted to hear: I did, and it was easy. It got me what I wanted.”

Clark physically recoiled as if Bruce had slapped him, but he forced his expression into anger instead of pain just as quickly. His immediate thought was, _Bruce doesn’t mean that_ , but the look on Bruce’s face…maybe he did. Maybe he had always meant it.

Clark felt sick all over again, and his fists were shaking at his sides in a way they hadn’t done in years.

“That bomb would have detonated; you wouldn’t have been able to stop the resulting disaster if I hadn’t been there to fly it out of the atmosphere. Or if Kyle hadn’t been there for damage control. The only reason we can stand here having this conversation is because we work as a _team_.”

Bruce was unfazed. “If it weren’t for your involvement, that bomb would have never been built.”

Clark was silent for a moment, his mind full of too many and too few words, all at once. The two men stared at each other, neither moving an inch or making a motion to speak.

“That’s really what I am to you?” Clark asked, his voice carefully neutral, now. He couldn’t yell – he _wanted_ to scream, but his entire body, throat included, felt as if it was constricting in on itself. It was all he could do to force out the words while staring into Bruce’s blank face.

“You were an impulse.” Bruce said simply.

_Were._

That word hit harder than _impulse_ ever could, though that one stung, too. Clark wanted to break apart at that simple turn of phrase, but the anger came quicker, so he chose it instead.

“I don’t know why I keep trying. You were never going to. Not really. That would involve some level of _trust_ , wouldn’t it?” He shoved a hand roughly through his hair and again turned his back to Bruce. He couldn’t look him in the eye for what he was going to say next. He knew his resolve would crumble if he did. “Fine. Be on your own if that’s what you want, Bruce. You won’t find me standing in your way.”

Clark didn’t look back as he stormed out onto the balcony and flung himself up into the skies. Bruce didn’t call out for him, and that added to the hurt. It made Clark feel like even more of a fool for hoping Bruce would. For hoping that he would try to stop him, or hell, make so much as the _slightest_ movement towards Clark as he flew away from the manor.

But no. There was none of that.

Clark knew, because his abilities would never allow him _not_ to know, that Bruce had turned to leave the room before Clark had so much as gotten both feet off the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comms are basically Superhero-Bluetooth, right? They are, now.


	4. One Foot in Front of the Other (Is Bullshit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clark licks his wounds, and Bruce receives some reality checks. Alternatively: the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a quick one, but the next chapter is coming very soon.

CLARK

Clark didn’t go home that night.

He didn’t go to the Tower the next day for monitor duty either, though he did text Diana and Kara, asking if either of them would cover his shift for a few rotations while he was out of reach. Both said yes. Both asked if everything was ok, if something had happened.

He told them, no, of course not, everything was just fine. He told them he needed some time away, but if anyone needed him, they only had to call.

Because it was over text, neither of them could really call his bluff.

He did not text Dick.

Instead, he went to the fortress. Then to his ma, who knew something was wrong, but also knew her son, and didn’t pry. Then he went (fled) back to the fortress again. He worked on Daily Planet articles from there for the following week, and Perry didn’t complain (too much) as long as they kept coming in at a steady pace and Clark phoned in for the meetings.

Clark was hiding, and he knew it.

It was cowardly, and stupid, and approaching embarrassing levels of juvenile, for a fully-grown man to act like a heartbroken teenager, but every time he stepped outside those first two days, he pictured of that blank look on Bruce’s face. The way Bruce hadn’t so much as flinched when he left. The words he had said. _Impulse_.

He had to stop himself every now and then from unconsciously reaching toward Gotham, toward the manor, with his hearing. It was easier to do so in the fortress, with solid, crystal walls between them and the last remnants of Krypton at his fingertips to pull his attention away from the pain.

Sleeping was struggle that week, whether he was in the Fortress, or back home, or in his own apartment. He found that out the hard way, the minute he woke up from a nap and his first instinct was to listen for the sound of Bruce’s heartbeat. It was quitter in the fortress, too. He supposed that helped.

But he couldn’t ignore Metropolis, his responsibility to his city always had to come before his hopeless personal life. That much had not changed.

It was on one of his patrols there that he was intercepted – literally cornered in an alleyway by Diana – while dealing with another horde of Toyman creations.

“Your watch shift was boring,” she commented lightly as she sliced apart a demonic looking robot bunny rabbit.

“I’ll be back to normal duty tonight, so you won’t have to worry about it again. At least for a while,” he added, in what he hoped was an appropriately lighthearted tone, as they seamlessly maneuvered around one another to eliminate the threat and contain Toyman yet again. He just hadn’t been able to face the idea of running into Bruce at the Watchtower so soon. He knew he was damn lucky to have a friend in Diana.

As Superman wrapped the maniac up in a nice metal bow for the police, Diana studied him. He knew there was no way on any Earth that he was getting out of this one. She had probably been crafting her plan of attack for days now, knowing her. Clark doubted it was pure coincidence that she had decided to visit Metropolis so conveniently during his patrol.

“Barry is convinced you have officially gone rogue,” she informed him eventually, as they stood atop a high-rise, watching the lights of the city dance on the quiet streets below.

“Well, Barry is projecting.”

“Is he? Or are you?”

Clark sighed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, eyes trained on the streets even as he felt Diana’s eyes boring into him. “What does that mean?”

“It means something, I’m sure.”

“I’m not in the mood for a heart-to-heart Diana,” he told her, half begging and not subtle about it.

She must have seen something fragile in him then, because in a very unlike-Diana move, she conceded. “Alright, but you still need to come back.”

“Didn’t I say I was taking up my shift tonight?”

“You did, but your shift isn’t all I was referring to.”

Clark knew that, but it wasn’t as easy he wished it was. “I don’t think…”

“We need you, Clark. And you need us, too.”

Her hand was on his arm, but instead of holding him up it felt like a weight, close to crushing him completely.

“I’ve earned a little time to get my head straight, haven’t I?” He almost said it to himself.

“A thousand times over. Unfortunately, none of the villains care very much about what we’ve earned.” They were quiet again for a little while, until Diana continued. “You were happier than I’ve seen you in a long time, not just outwardly, but in everything. And now you are…not. Let me help where I can, Clark.”

“It isn’t the sort of thing you can help.”

She pursed her lips, he knew that much without having to look. “Then come fight alongside me. Combat always clears my head.”

Clark chuckled half-heartedly. “That’s because you’re _you_ , D.”

“And it will work for you too, Son of Krypton,” she teased. “Come. I’m tired of your moping. Brooding never did suit you.”

He offered her the best true smile he could offer, which was little more than a smirk, but he refused to show her something false. “How can I say no to such a heartwarming invitation?”

“That wasn’t an invitation. It was an order,” she said lightly, tossing back her dark hair.

Clark knew what she was doing, and he let her. Who knew? Maybe combat _would_ distract him, even if just for a moment. And wasn’t that better than agonizing over a person who would so clearly never change their ways?

\----

BRUCE

Bruce had been pretending not to notice Dick pacing along the hallways of the manor for a little over half an hour, and the monotony of it had quickly become worse than tedious. There was obviously something the boy wanted to say, but he was taking his sweet time in getting up the courage to say it.

As far as confrontations had been going lately, Bruce hadn’t been faring all that well. He wasn’t eager to get into another.

He swallowed back a mountain of emotion for what felt like the millionth time that week, a wash of feeling pushing hard against the new wall he was building inside himself to contain it all. A few even breaths and his emotions were under control again. Rolling his shoulders, he got back to work on the Wayne Tech accounts that, technically, he didn’t need to personally see to. But they were enough to fill the time between patrols and tracking fifth dimension activity, and at the very least the task took something off of Lucius’ plate – anyone with eyesight knew that man worked hard enough for the company as it was.

Bruce was sitting at his desk in his personal study when Dick finally came back down the hall.

“I stayed with Clark and Lois for a bit,” he announced, breezing through the door, apparently sparing no time for pleasantries. “Back in the day.”

Bruce paused. True, he had assumed Dick had gone to Clark in the days before they reconciled – Dick had even outright said Clark had been there for him, helped him pick the name _Nightwing_ – but they had never discussed it openly. It was a difficult thing for two prideful people to start talking about their past mistakes, as well as everything that had happened in between.

Bruce had been fine with that – fine with acting as if it never happened, as if was inconsequential. Yet, that had never been the way Dick dealt with the world. In many ways, including that one, he was a better man that Bruce would ever be.

Dick seemed to take the silence as permission to continue, sitting down in one of the arm chairs in front of the desk. “You know, it was just me and Clark at first. Lois was out of town for work during the first week or so, but she came back eventually. I saw how he was with her, then. Saw the way he acted, the way he held himself when she was in the room; that sort of thing. I’m not going to say he didn’t love her romantically. He did, and it showed. But you taught me to be the most observant person in the room, Bruce, and I know Clark a lot better than he thinks I do. The way he is when he’s here, with you, is _different_ than it was with her.” Dick leaned back, crossing his arms and grinning ruefully, as if apologizing for the conversation they were having.

He paused, studying Bruce. When he continued, he sounded contemplative. “I might not know exactly what’s going on between you two, and I absolutely do _not_ want to know details, but I thought you should know that. It’s a good different, Bruce. Just so you know.”

Bruce said the only thing he could; “I don’t know what you mean.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. The problem is that I care about both of you, and I couldn’t just sit here say nothing about all the brooding you’ve been doing lately, or how he hasn’t been seen or heard from around here in a while. Look: He’s better off without Lois as his fiancée, or his girlfriend, or whatever. That’s not some new development – they’ve been better off as close friends for a long time – the only difference is that he finally sees it too.” With that, Dick stood, shaking out his arms. “Wow, this really is weird, huh? We don’t really do this whole discussing-our-feelings thing that often.”

That was an understatement. But maybe Bruce could be better about that. Maybe he could try, for Dick, to be better. “I care about you, too,” Bruce admitted, trying out some of Clark’s earnestness for a change. That comparison threatened to sting, but he shoved it back down. Bruce didn’t say those simple words to Dick often enough; so much so that they felt foreign on his tongue, even though the feelings had been there for years.

Bruce saw understanding wash over Dick’s face, and it warmed the broken parts of him to see Dick smile back at him, genuinely. It wasn’t Dick’s wild, beaming smile, but the private one left only for those that really mattered to him.

Bruce wondered why he had ever thought they were better off at a distance.

“I know that,” Dick assured him, his voice firm but quiet. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be as good at my job as I am.”

That was about the limit of displays of emotion for Bruce for that day, so he diverted the subject away from himself. “Speaking of your job, Barbara wanted you to get ahold of her when you get a chance.”

Dick’s smile fell a bit in confusion. “She told you that? Why didn’t she just reach me over the comm link?”

Bruce lifted a brow at his former ward. “I don’t think it was strictly work related. She stopped by the cave last night, but you were already out.”

“Oh,” Dick said simply, his face going carefully blank and Bruce grinned at the sight of the unstoppable chatterbox at a loss for words. He chuckled softly, stood, and patted Dick on the back.

“Good luck with that.”

Dick grinned, his previous discomfort at the mention of Barbara nearly erased. “Boy, talk about new territory for us, huh? This must be like a milestone or something.”

“Go get some sleep, Dick.”

As soon as Dick was gone, the emptiness returned with a sharp intake of breath. Of all the things Dick could have brought up, it had to be that.

 _Clark_.

When Dick was in the room, it had been easier for Bruce to push everything else aside and focus his attention solely on him, but now that Bruce was alone again, he felt all it come back, ten-fold.

Dick’s words hung in the air like ghosts. But it didn’t matter. No matter how happy Clark may have seemed, how happy he’d actually been, it would never have lasted. Not with Bruce. And not even happiness would change the fact that their relationship had drawn too many eyes before it had even become public knowledge. It had put yet another target on Clark’s already marked back.

_What would have happened had they been open about it?_

Bruce didn’t want to think about the consequences, but he couldn’t erase the images of Luthor smiling up at his bomb, at the trap set for Kara, or the kryptonite that had been embedded into Clark’s skin not long ago. Bruce’s kids could have been next. As would anyone that was associated with the bat. Kon-El, as powerful as he was, was still too hotheaded and would make it all too easy for Luthor to set him off, should he decide to pounce on more of Clark’s people. It wasn’t just about one side or the other, not when hurting one side hurt both. Not when Batman and Superman were two of the most well-known and powerful figures on this side of the planet, and were drawing attention from other places, too.

The…attachment…between Bruce and Clark was too much of a risk to allow to continue. A weakness to be exploited from both ends. They had been “together” only a handful of weeks and already this was how distracted Bruce was? What would a couple more months of it do to his concentration? Years?

No. He couldn’t think like that. It was over. They were done.

Bruce had dealt with aches in his heart before. He had made it this many years with losses greater than he could quantify. What was one more? One more friend, one more lover, one more piece of himself chipped away.

It didn’t matter. _Gotham_ mattered, the safety of the world mattered, and Bruce Wayne’s feelings did not. The truth wasn’t a luxury he had any longer.

Three factors remained. First, Luthor expected Clark to be taken out by the bomb. That much had been obvious from the smug smile he’d given Bruce that night, the shine of victory in his eyes. But a bomb? Even one with kryptonite inside, Luthor should have known after all these years to never underestimate Clark’s natural ability to regenerate. It had taken him out for a day, certainly, but that didn’t account for Luthor’s confidence.

Second, the Joker’s involvement. Teaming up like that, even to take on Batman and Superman at once, didn’t come close to fitting either his or Luthor’s MO. Joker’s confidence was harder to judge at any point in time – he man was certifiably insane. However, it had been a long time since Bruce had been naive enough to underestimate his strategic skill. This? Using a dirty bomb to knock out Superman? It lacked everything he’d ever been known for.

And then there was the results from the quick device Brue had done. Having spoken with J’onn, there was no longer any doubt the bomb was not entirely of this dimension. At some point, to whatever degree, it had been tampered with.

There was little chance in Bruce’s mind that this was over. A third, more powerful player was still out there, and that above all sealed his resolve to keep Clark at arm’s length. The less he was involved, the less chance there was of their connection being exploited, but more than that, the less chance there was for Clark to be hurt in ways that would not heal with time, the way heartbreak would.

If Clark’s safety meant that Bruce would lose him, then so be it. He’d made the mistake of selfishness before, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. Bruce would end this on his own terms, alone

\----

CLARK

“Train, incoming!”

“Nice catch, Supergirl!” When he’d gotten a call from Kara about a gravity defying train, he hadn’t thought solving the problem would be as fun as it was. Once they figured out they needed to remove the small devices bolted into the bottoms of the cars in order to get them to stop crashing into each other mid-air, things had gone much more smoothly. Now, it was mostly about catching them.

He also never thought _ran-away-train_ could refer to trains trying to fly away from you, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

“Oh yeah!” Kara cheered after carefully setting the last locomotive to rights on the tracks again. “Let’s see Power Girl do that _._ ”

“Hey now, she’s doing a great job. You know what it’s like, starting over in a whole new world.” Clark reminded her, trying in vain to hold back his grin.

She blew hair off of her face with a huff. “I got that reference. And I’d rather get back to punching things than take a lecture, Supes.”

“Supes?” Clark mumbled, squinting at the sky incredulously. He shook his head and cracked his neck. “I have a feeling you’ll get the punching opportunity sooner rather than later…” Clark head him approaching before he saw the figure, but the shock was no less potent when he drew near. Kara looked confused, casting around blindly for the source.

“What—”

Clark moved just in time to knock Kara out of the way, taking the blow from the General Zod’s elbow. The force of it drove Clark’s heels through the ground as he did his best to push back, leaving deep grooves in the field.

“Kal-El, how rude of you to break up a reunion.,” Zod spat, aiming a right uppercut toward Clark’s jaw as they grappled, but Clark caught his wrist and twisted it. It always took a second of adjustment when fighting someone who could take Clark’s strength and more, especially another Kryptonian. Even one like Zod.

The movement gave Zod the chance to get out of the hold, kicking Clark back and putting space between them quickly. His grin was malicious as he looked over to Kara’s shocked face. “Sister. So good to see you again after so long.”

“She is no sister of yours, Zod.”

“You were dead! I watched you die.” Kara said, stating the obvious.

“Oh, believe me, _Supergirl_ , I know.”

“Who brought you back, Zod?” Clark interrupted, reading his stance.

“The grace of the gods? Terrible of me, but I hadn’t thought to question such a gift.” That was a lie and a half if Clark ever heard one.

“You won’t be walking away from this a free man,” Kara said, her tone as resolute as stone. Clark was proud of how she handled herself, after everything that she had been through at his hands. How he toyed with her need of her father. At her age, Clark wasn’t sure he would have done near as well in the same situation.

“We shall see about that.” Zod flew at Kara at the same time she flung herself at him, coming together in resounding _boom_ of a hit. Kara was strong, and Clark had no doubt that when she got older she had the potential to be stronger than him, but he also knew there was too much history there to make this a logical fight.

She punched hard, and Zod held nothing back. Clark was caught between wanting to help and not wanting to get in her way, but there was something different about Zod this time.

“Non!” Zod bellowed.

Clark looked toward the sound of crackling air, almost like the sound before the Boom Tube. From nowhere, with no other warning, Non appeared, brandishing a large silver hand-canon. He smiled in that sick way of his and stared at Clark while he aimed it at the stopped train.

“No!” Clark shouted as he sped forward, throwing his body in between the blast of blue light and the train, unknowing of what it would do, but unwilling to wait and see at the cost of the lives of the people inside.

His body convulsed on impact and Clark fell to the ground against his will. His entire body seized so hard he nearly missed Zod holding Kara’s hand behind her back, ordering Non to aim at her. Clark yelled in a rage and forced himself up even as the beam of light hit Kara, too. He swung, as hard as he could.

Normally, even against a Kryptonian, Clark’s full strength when he was in pain would send a person flying. This hit sent Non out of sight, knocking down trees as he cleared fifteen acres of plowed corn fields and into the woods. The weapon fell somewhere in between Clark and the trees, but suddenly Clark’s vision went hazy and a spike of pain rolled through his head.

“Superman!” Kara cried out, and on instinct, Clark opened his eyes.

That was the wrong move. Unbidden, his heat vision shot out, scorching the earth, searing through a grain silo when he quickly looked away to both stop the blast and avoid hitting Kara. But it didn’t stop until he shut his eyes again.

Zod laughed, loud and menacing.

He heard sounds of Kara kicking, and then a yelp and the familiar sound of her heat vision burning through the field. One of her kicks must have landed, because Zod's laughter was cut short and there was the sound of something hitting the ground hard, half a mile away. “Clark, I-I can’t stop it!”

“Stay calm!”

“Calm?! That silo is now two silos, and who knows how much money I just cost a poor farmer in land damage!”

“Follow my voice,” Clark told her firmly, hoping it would help if they could feel each other.

No sooner did she say, “Okay,” than Clark was knocked off his feet by her body ramming into his too quickly.

“Ouf,” Clark grunted. He tried to grab her arm to steady her, but it must have been too tight because she yelped. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“No, that's my line," she mumbled, then gasped. "Oh, god, Zod! Where is he?”

She was right, it was too quiet to mean anything good, but if both of them were this out of control, Clark wasn’t sure they could fight anyone off successfully without putting the people they came here to save in danger. “I’m calling the Watchtower.”

“Shit, shit, I can’t hear him at all…I can hear people in the train saying really nasty, incestuous things about us, but I can’t get a read on him or Non. Great.” She rolled off and stayed laying on the ground beside him.

Clark activated his comm. “Watchtower, anyone on deck?”

J’onn’s calm voice followed immediately, “Superman, what do you need?”

“Assistance would be good. Zod and Non are here, we don’t know where they went but Kara and I are compromised, we can’t fight. I have to get us out of here.”

“Tracking your location now, I will be there shortly. Go wherever you need to.”

“Thanks, J’onn.”

“Clark?” Kara asked warily.

“Yeah?”

“How are we gonna get home?”

Clark sighed, knowing she wouldn't like his answer. “How do you feel about a piggy back ride?”

Kara groaned. “As long as you can tell me we don’t have to go to your ice castle.”

“Well I could, but I’d be lying.”

\----

BRUCE

Clark could be happy, now.

That is what Bruce had convinced himself of over the past few weeks (or rather, he tried to). If he couldn’t force Clark out of his head, he could turn the thought proactive instead of replaying everything that went wrong (and all the thing that hadn’t).

His conversation with Dick had been the only time anyone had spoken to him of Superman, and he was all the better for it. His duties as a Wayne had turned out to be more than enough to fill extra time during his day, even more so since they had always been the first things to be neglected over the years in favor of his real work as Batman.

In fact, Bruce was already dressing for his third gala fundraiser in two weeks as he signed another stack of documents given to him by an utterly thrilled Lucius earlier that day.

This event was different, however, only for one small detail.

“Sir, Miss Kyle has arrived,” Alfred call from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Perfect, Alfred, I’ll be down in a minute.”

He hadn’t seen Selina since she’d gotten back from a stint in Paris, doing things Bruce decided he did not want to know the details of.

As he descended the stairs, he found her standing at the bottom with her arm draped across the bannister. “Well, I must say Mr. Wayne, you certainly know how to keep a girl on her toes.”

He offered her his arm, and she took it with a grin sharper than the blade tucked against her inner left thigh. “Selina, what a stunning necklace.”

Her trilling laugh echoed through the empty room as they made for the door. She ran her fingers across the net of glittering rubies and diamonds around her neck. They were without a doubt the Burmese jewels; the only shocking thing was that Bruce hadn’t heard they’d been stolen. He would bet good money that the rightful owners weren’t yet aware of their disappearance, either.

“Now, Bruce, don’t give me that look. They were a gift.” He raised a brow, helping her into the limo. “You know how men are, always aching to put their mark on you.”

“And you, always happy to take advantage of that predilection.”

She shrugged. “What else is a girl like me to do in a man’s world like this?”

He smirked, too. “As if you’ve ever considered this world as something men own.”

Selina smiled wickedly and sat back in her seat, lifting an arm to rest across the back of it, her fingers just barely dusting the top of his shoulder. “What made you call me?” she asked bluntly, as soon as the car took off down the path.

Bruce straightened his tie. “Are you saying your charity wouldn’t enjoy more Wayne money?”

“Not in the slightest. You being there will make all the other old cats squirm and empty their pockets right into mine; I don’t need to tell you that. But you don’t give a rat’s pajamas about my charity. What is this really about, Bruce?”

He adjusted his cufflinks. “Are you turning down the assistance?”

He could feel her keen eyes studying him, but she didn’t have all the information she’d need to figure him out. Maybe that was part of the reason he had called her yesterday. Maybe Tim would have psychoanalyzed his behavior and come to a different conclusion entirely.

Selina Kyle was not one to let things go, he knew, so when she shifted the topic with a light, “Did you bring something to cover up that trademark, Wayne smile?” he also knew that it was not the end of the conversation.

\----

Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle drew every eye and camera flash as they arrived at the museum, arm in arm. _This_ was news; juicy news that Gotham reporters had been salivating for ever since the two socialites had seemingly gone their separate ways months prior.

Different from the other charity events he had attended that week, he didn’t have to work quite as hard at commanding attention. Selina did most of that all on her own, owning the room like she had lived there her entire life. They were able to maneuver around the room, Bruce casing the venue and Selina the guests, with all the ease of a couple who weren’t planning a high-stakes information extraction.

In the small corners of his mind, Bruce thought back to a time where he was doing almost the same routine with another hero, but instead of Gotham elite surrounding him it was Metropolis, and instead of the beautiful woman at his side now, it had been…

Well.

The night certainly wasn’t going to end in the same way.

“You’re brooding, Brucie dear,” Selina chided him with one arm looped around his neck as they slowly, perfectly in time with everyone else. “I hear expressions like that tend to stick if left in place too long.”

“You never mentioned the weather in Paris,” he deflected without hesitation.

“Calm. Unlike Gotham’s, from what I hear on the ivy vine. Thank you for accompanying me tonight, if I haven’t said so already. I wouldn’t want to be all on my lonesome should a gang of robots storm the streets again.”

So she’d done some digging of her own. He hadn’t expected any less, truthfully, and at least he was prepared for it. He simply nodded his agreement, and studiously ignored the mention of Ivy. The less he knew about her involvement with the Sirens, the better the night would go.

“Thank God that nastiness was well taken care of by our friends in capes,” he said formally.

“Oh yes, absolutely, thank the Justice League! What would we do without them, do you wonder?” She was not talking about the League.

“Gotham has always managed.” He was not talking about Gotham.

“Not without help, it hasn’t. Are you forgetting about the gang of bats that roam the skies at night?”

“The city was standing strong before, and it will remain standing long after.”

“The foundations will, maybe, and the buildings and the streets. But that’s not all a city’s made of, Bruce.”

“Would Gotham still be Gotham without City Hall? The Pier? The architecture?”

“What would any of those places be without those citizens who love them and add their own personal touches?”

He raised a brow at her. “Have you turned into a sentimentalist during your time in Europe?”

“Who knows – I accepted your help, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he answered, but there was a question in it that he knew she heard. _Why?_ He knew why _he_ had offered to help her in this little heist, but not why she had agreed to it.

“Should we move this conversation to a more private location?” Selina prompted, looking up at him through her lashes.

Bruce ran his hand lower down on her waist, making sure the movement was noticed by those around them. “I’ll follow your lead, Miss Kyle.”

“Naturally.”

\----

“That was _not_ according to plan!” Selina spat at him, hours later, her hands gripping tight to the wheel of the shiny black Mercedes she had ‘acquired’.

Bruce grunted in response, keeping a hand on his side, a stubborn stream of blood managing to seep through his fingers regardless of his efforts. She called out curses in frustration as she broke more than a few laws and a fence on her way through the wooded entrance to the cave.

“I’ll have to replace this car later. Alfred, take note.”

“Alfred can’t hear you, you ass,” Selina growled. “You were supposed to be _helping_ me. I thought the Great Detective would be an asset on this. _Silly me_.”

“You got what you came for. _And_ I saved you the pain of having a bullet lodged in your abdomen. I think thanks are in order.”

“You’re just lucky this isn’t my car; I’d kill you myself right here for getting so much damn blood on the leather.”

“Welcome home, Sir,” Alfred’s voice echoed through the cave system as the engine roared. “Was the expensive limousine not to taste?”

Selina slammed hard on the breaks, forcing Bruce to throw out his free hand to keep his face from smashing into the dashboard. “Point _taken,_ ” he growled back at her.

“Good!” she exclaimed, getting out and slamming the door before shouting at Alfred to retrieve “the self-righteous prick” from the car.

“Woah there, kitty cat,” came Dick’s teasing tone from somewhere up by the monitors. “Put away those claws while the children are present.” Bruce didn’t catch Selina’s response, but he did hear her pull out her knife again.

“Bruce, what happened?” Tim asked, immediately coming to Alfred’s side as Dick and Selina squabbled farther away.

“Nothing.”

“That’s another three-piece suit gone,” Alfred commented lightly, peeling away the bloodstained fabric of his shirt. “The trousers may yet be redeemable, however. Not a total loss tonight, master Wayne.”

“Your boss thinks he’s a white knight,” Selina groused at Tim. Bruce looked up from where Alfred was already cleaning his wound to see her standing with her arms crossed and her hip out. “And he forgets he isn’t constantly encased in Kevlar.”

“ _Partner_ ,” Tim corrected stubbornly, and Bruce bit back a smirk.

Dick smirked for him. “I didn’t know Catwoman was back in town.”

“She’s not,” Selina informed him. “Selina Kyle, on the other hand, would never pass up a chance at getting more attention for her charity foundation.”

“Which politician got robbed blind tonight?”

“None of them,” Bruce answered bluntly.

“You really think he’d help me relieve over-rich cretins of their burdens? That would be betraying his people.” Selina mocked.

Alfred tisked, pulling away to retrieve the stitching set. “It wasn’t that deep, Alfred,” Bruce argued in vain.

“Just a precaution, sir. And it just might force you to be the slightest bit careful over the next few days,” the butler added slyly. Tim started chuckling but stopped dead with one cold look from Bruce.

“Show’s over. The two of you should be out there by now, or am I getting my time tables wrong?”

“Yes, run along, boys, the adults need to have a mature conversation,” Selina teased, tapping a finger to one of Tim’s cheeks.

He swatted her hand away with a frown worthy of the Batman. “Will you be joining us?” he asked Bruce.

“Yes.” Alfred gave him an eyebrow raise. “ _Yes,_ ” Bruce insisted. “I’m fine.”

“That upholstery isn’t,” Selina deadpanned.

“Right. Alfred, make sure a new model gets sent to whomever owned this.”

“Right away, sir. I’ll ready the ice bath for when you overextend your muscles tonight, as well.”

Bruce rightly decided to ignore that comment.

The boys filed out shortly after, leaving him and Selina alone again. She was leaning over the console, clicking though news articles, when Bruce came up behind her, dressed for patrol. “You aren’t remotely ok,” she said, not looking at him.

“I don’t have time to spar with you and ease your concern, but I assure you I can still fight just as well as I could this afternoon.”

She turned around, her lips pursed. “I didn’t mean physically, but Alfred is right, you’re going to hurt like hell in the morning with an injury like that.”

“I’ll take an aspirin.”

“And I’ll need another martini, or five. I’ve been very patient, Bruce, now tell me why you called.”

“I heard about the Vasquez deal and then the gala you both just so happened to be invited to. I thought you could use an additional pair of hands given your history with him.”

Selina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t discredit me by acting as if I can’t see two feet in front of me. I’m not you, but I’m no simpleminded bimbo either. I know something serious happened. Dick seems tense and irritable, too, don’t think I didn’t notice that.” When Bruce didn’t answer, she jumped to the most likely conclusion. “Did the two of you start fighting again?”

“No.”

Privately, Bruce hoped Dick’s mood was more about his impending decision involving the Titans team than something to do with Bruce himself. Not that he could figure it out by prying, not if he wanted to avoid discussing Clark. Dick was close with both of them, no doubt his position was complicated, but Bruce wasn’t going to start poking around that minefield.   

Selina huffed out a small sigh of frustration. “I still care about you to some small degree, our failed relationship notwithstanding. And I know that look on your face isn’t because I’m back in town.”

“How do you know I haven’t been pinning away for you ever since you left?”

She scoffed. “You? Pinning? Now that _is_ funny.” Selina paused then, scrutinizing him. “But maybe you have been pining for _someone_ … Did you fall into bed with Wonder Woman again? Catch feelings after allegedly meaningless sex? An amorous meeting to celebrate how noble and self-righteous you both are?”

She was closer to the truth than she knew, and her jabs were starting to scrape against his carefully constructed defenses. No doubt that was her intention. His silence must have said more than enough for him, because her eyes widened, but he shook his head before her imagination could run wild. “No. Wonder Woman and I are colleagues. Nothing more.”

“The word you’re looking for is _friends_ , I think. God, I’d forgotten how emotionally stunted you are, Brucie.” Her face softened into something uncomfortably close to concern. “I left _us,_ Bruce. What we had wasn’t healthy in the long run, and there’s only so much I can take of unhealthy relationships, living the way I do. I have more than enough unhealthy behaviors without adding a complicated love affair into the mix, or so my therapist tells me.”

“I don’t for a second think you have ever been to see a therapist.”

She shrugged. “Harley was a professional once, you know.”

He ran a hand over his face, shutting his eyes. “Now you’re taking life advice from Harley Quinn?”

“Hell no, she’s bat-shit crazy, and nowhere close to the kind of bat I’m usually into,” Selina teased, and he appreciated her efforts, but he wasn’t in the mood to discuss either of their feelings. He couldn’t.

However, Selina never really seemed to care what he was and was not ready for.

“My point is, I wasn’t leaving _you_ when I left.” The honesty in her face was nearly too much, and it must have been for her too because she cleared her throat and rolled back her shoulders. “So, getting back to the topic at hand; was it a bad break-up, or did this person get caught in the line of fire?”

He didn’t say anything, and for a long moment, neither of them did. But finally, he admitted, “Both.”

Bruce felt Selina’s hand on his arm, drawing his eyes back up to hers. “For all it’s worth, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to say this, because the rest of them obviously won’t do it, but you need to pull your head out of your ass.”

He recoiled a fraction in surprise. “Excuse me?”

The quiet air to her was gone, and she was back to being Selina, arms crossed over her chest with her chin tilted high. “I would have hoped Nightwing, at least, would have the balls by now to tell it to you straight. Apparently, I was too optimistic.”

Bruce squinted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” For once, those words were 100% truth.

“Is this person dead?”

Bruce didn’t answer, but Selina looked validated.

“Then you need to suck it up Bruce. If there’s a way to fix this, then do it.”

He rolled his eyes, turning his back. “Now _you_ don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So then tell me what I’m missing.” She walked around to force him to face her and ticked off points on her fingers. “You’re in pain, you’re brooding, you’re avoiding your beau, you got in a fight, you split up, and you want to get back together but you won’t let yourself because you have a never-ending vendetta against your own happiness. Did I miss something?”

“I won’t _let_ myself because I have responsibilities. I have a duty that doesn’t include room for a romantic relationship.”

“Know what that sounds like? Bull. Shit.”

“Are you going to suggest that _we_ would have worked out had we just _tried harder_?”

“No, I’m not. There were plenty of reasons we didn’t work out – this sort of attitude included, thank you very much. Just because you and I don’t make a perfect couple doesn’t mean that no one in your life can ever be that for you. I do have some authority here, speaking as your ex. Not all of what we had was awful, if you remember.”

He did. He remembered it well, loving her.

“So,” Selina continued firmly, “listen to me. I think you’re allowed something _good_ in your life, Bruce. I know it. But that won’t ever happen if you keep being so god damn hell-bent on destroying every chance that comes your way. Fate can only do so much for you.”

“I’ve met Fate, and I wasn’t impressed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Be miserable if you want – do it all on your own.” The words stuck in him like knives all over again, carrying the same pain even coming from different lips. He saw Clark walking away all over again at the same time as he watched Selina turn her back.

But she didn’t fly off into the night sky, she spun around, jabbing her finger into his chest with a stubborn scowl on her face. “I’m used to you playing your different parts in front of a crowd, I know how that is. But I’m not used to watching you show me a fake face when it’s just you and me. You’re doing it now, and you have been all night.”

“Selina—"

“I know damn well why you called me,” she continued, cutting him off. “I know why you offered to help. You needed to help someone you care about as an excuse to spend time with someone who cares about you without them asking why. I said yes because I thought I could give you something in return, but you keep refusing to let me. Well screw that shit, Bruce. I’m telling you whether you like it or not: life happens. Bad things happen, no matter how careful we are, or how great our karma is.”

“Don’t lecture _me_ on the ups and downs of life.”

“Then stop pulling that martyr crap. Go get him back! Beg if you have to. Throw your pride on the ground and bury it six feet under. If he’s worth it, if he’s the only light in this dark fucking hole you’ve dug for yourself, then you do whatever it takes to fix what you’ve broken, because now you know what life can feel like on the other side. Believe me, you won’t ever forget that feeling. Knowing you missed your chance to take it back will kill you from the inside out, slow and painful.” She took a step back, straightening herself. “You just have to remove that big head from your tiny ass, first.”

There was too much emotion welling in his throat to form a proper response, and Selina didn’t wait for one. She gave him half a grin, and turned back toward the Mercedes, throwing a hand in the air in goodbye. “I don’t like associating with cowards, Bruce, and you never struck me as weak. Give me a call once you’ve figured it out for yourself.”

Bruce watched her peel out of the cave, wheels screeching in protest as she tore up the gravel and dirt outside. He stood there for longer than he could measure, his mind feeling strangely numb but whirling at the same time.

Then he pulled on the cowl and went out into the night.

He hadn’t told her it was a him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a massive BatCat shipper, but I love Selina so much. Gotham City Sirens anyone? Also, that “wedding” tho. The build up was a lot of fun, with a ton of great character moments, and ngl I’m glad it ended the way it did, even if we all feel side-swiped.
> 
> One day, I will do a chick-fic and it will be glorious and gay and all my morally grey ladies will be center stage.


	5. Pride is a Foregone Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as the chapter where Diana is the only one who doesn't have to wonder what the hell she's doing at any given moment.

> “I'm never gonna let you close to me
> 
> Even though you mean the most to me
> 
> 'Cause every time I open up, it hurts
> 
> So I'm never gonna get too close to you
> 
> Even when I mean the most to you
> 
> In case you go and leave me in the dirt”
> 
> “Too Good At Goodbyes” – Sam Smith

 

\----

 

BRUCE

He was _not_ spying in on his ex. Snooping? No. Not that either. He was just doing his job, which at the moment was monitor duty at the Watchtower.

If it just so happened to allow him to view Superman’s takedown of Metallo, then that was pure happenstance. And if that particular encounter had ended over an hour ago and now one screen was showing Clark Kent walking to work, well that was purely accidental.

“What is that?” Diana asked bluntly, not startling him _at all._

There was no point in lying: Diana was neither ignorant nor blind. No matter how much Bruce wished she was in that particular moment. “That is the Daily Planet headquarters in Metropolis.”

“Yes, I _can_ read English,” she retorted. Then she was quiet for a moment as she peered over his shoulder. He could almost hear the Amazon thinking, thought it felt more like she was preparing her point of attack.

Her next words only confirmed that it was unquestionably meant as an attack: “Is there any specific reason you’re choosing to spy on our mutual friend at such an early hour?”

Bruce scowled without turning to look at her. He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. “It isn’t early for me.”

“Forgive me. Shall I rephrase? Why are you spying on Clark at such a _late_ hour?”

“If you want me to explain the reasoning behind every vantage point I observe during my shift, Wonder Woman, we will be here a while.”

She hummed with obvious discontent. “I suppose I’ll have to answer my own questions, then.”

He didn’t respond, knowing she would barrel on ahead regardless of any argument he made, short of Bruce getting up and leaving the room. And he wouldn’t do that, he still had an hour or so left before someone came to take his place. He also knew her well enough to know she had planned this ambush with that in mind. It wasn’t just her skill with a sword and lasso that had earned his respect, after all.

“You missed Superman by mere hours last week, and the week before that. Though I do suppose that is an improvement over not attending meetings—”

“I have never missed a meeting,” Bruce interrupted.

“…in the flesh,” she finished, as if he had not spoken at all. “Calling in via the Batcave speaks volumes, and the others have noticed, not just the Flash, J’onn, and Arthur. Zatanna voiced her concern to me alongside Shazam.”

Neither of those were too surprising. Billy was constantly expressing concern over his teammates’ wellbeing, being one of the most sensitive members of the team, and Zatanna had always been keenly observant. But he could see what Diana was getting at: if those two had spoken up, there was surely talk going on among the ranks. In Bruce’s experience, talk like that didn’t bode well.

But he didn’t admit that. Not yet.

“Cyborg had nothing to say?”

“I’m sure he would have had plenty, had he not been concentrating so much of his power into tracking down your latest hunch concerning what connects these recent attacks.” She paused pointedly. “Not that you’ve explained that, either.”

He ignored the jab. “I asked him to only look into it if he had time to spare.”

“He’ll always make the time when you call, regardless of if he has any to spare. He feels he has a debt to make up to you.”

“He doesn’t.”

“If you had been here for our small council sessions, you would have noticed he’s straining his abilities and been able to tell him this yourself.”

She was right, he hated when Diana was right – it almost always meant that Bruce had miscalculated, and he only ever miscalculated when it had something to do with personal matters. He hadn’t made a council meeting with the founding members of the league since he and Clark split. He’d spoken with each of them outside of those meetings, of course, but he’d left the meetings to Clark. Bruce had decided it would be less awkward that way, at least for the time being. And now it seemed the consequence was hurting not only his pride, but Victor’s well-being.

Diana saw the expression on his face and grinned, looking far to smug for Bruce’s own good. Bruce scowled back. “Fine. I’ll talk to Cyborg. Is that all?”

“So long as you agree to speak with Superman as well, then yes.”

Bruce sighed through his nose, keeping his composure steady. “There is nothing that needs to be said between Superman and I.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t argue this with you.”

“Wonderful. Talk to him.” When Bruce said nothing, she continued. “If you keep up this attitude, I’ll be forced to make observations.”

“Observations?” he asked, immediately kicking himself for falling for her bait.

“Things were going too smoothly for us as a team a month ago, clearly that wasn’t going to last. However, _this_ isn’t exactly the type of crash and burn I was anticipating.”

“Exaggeration doesn’t become you.”

“I’m well aware of that, and I’m not exaggerating.” She paused and spun his chair around to force him to look at her. “I’m not asking for details. We both know you wouldn’t give them over even if I did. I am asking you to help me run this team the way we have done since the beginning.”

“If the next word out of your mouth is _together_ , your memory is clearly failing you.”

“I’m not talking about the beginning of the Justice League. I am talking about the beginning of us as a team. Of the seven of us, together. We were separate heroes under a pretty banner before we finally began working cohesively. I will not go back to that old method, Batman, and your and Superman’s actions threaten to drag us back to that place. You’re diving us. We cannot stand divided.”

“You—”

“I was being civil, Batman, but I can be something else if that works better. If you think I’m not angry on his behalf, you are very far off your game, indeed.” He looked at her, really looked, and it felt like a slap. “I don’t know what you did or said to him, and for your sake I hope I never find out. But you are my friend, just as much as he is. I don’t want to take sides, and I find it hard to imagine whatever happened was entirely your fault, even if you are exacerbating the problem.”

Bruce held her gaze. “Diana, there are some things that even I am incapable of.”

“And there are injuries that have the ability destroy all of us if you leave them to fester.”

His jaw clicked. “What was it you once told me? Time heals all wounds?”

“Time is a luxury we do not have.”

“There are…complications with your idea of fixing things.”

“You can start the process, even if you can’t fully embrace each other, just yet. You can _try_. And I suggest you start it soon. Every opportunity missed is a mile lost.”

Bruce scoffed, not quite a laugh, but it made her smile. “I don’t think you’re quoting Flash accurately.”

“The sentiment is still the same, I’m sure.” The wink she threw him before she strode out of the room reminded him of a time long gone, when they were younger, and everything felt possible.

If he didn’t find a way to lure their attacker in, and soon, he wasn’t sure what would become of them.

\----

CLARK

“Computer, call Watchtower,” Clark called out, feeling his way over to the monitor station in the Fortress.

“Supes! Come to save me from isolation?” Flash teased. Then he paused, seemingly confused, though Clark couldn’t really tell without being able to look at the face he assumed was on the screen. “Why are your eyes closed? Skip an afternoon nap?”

Clark almost opened his eyes just to roll them at Barry, but he remembered his current predicament in time to save himself the time it would take to repair the computers from his uncontrollable heat vision.

“Flash, Supergirl and I ran into a…problem with General Zod.”

Now Barry sounded serious: “How big a problem are we talking? Is Supergirl alright? I don’t see her.”

There was a crash from the other room, followed by the unmistakable smell of singed fabric, and then a muffled, “Sorry!”

Clark sighed. “She’s fine, but I don’t think my couch is. Also, we’re going to need to pull from the New-Meta fund. Again.”

Flash made a sympathetic wince. “Property damage?”

“I seared a silo in two.”

Barry laughed, until he realized Clark wasn’t. “Wow, you’re serious. Ok. Wanna give me some details?” Again, Clark couldn’t see the screen, but he heard Barry shuffling around, arguing with someone just out of range of the mic. “Stop hovering, Bats!” the speedster scolded, and Clark pretended that his stomach didn’t just do a flip at the mention of Bruce. But this was serious, and at least he had a justified excuse for making eye contact. Somehow, it had been weeks since they had seen each other. But right now, they had business to deal with, not interpersonal drama. Isn’t that what Bruce had always said?

“Zod and Non hit us with something nasty,” Clark continued. “I didn’t get a good look at the weapon before it was too late. Our powers are cranked up to ten, and the both of us are having difficulty keeping them in check. If I opened my eyes right now, I’d blow a hole through the wall. Hence, the silo. Strength is off, too, and the cold breath. Flying seems to be alright, but then again that was never a problem once I figured out that I _could_ fly and not just jump really high.”

Barry hummed the way he sometimes did when he was concentrating. “It looks like J’onn picked up Non after you radioed in an hour ago, but I’m not seeing anything about Zod. Does he still have the device?”

“Most likely. With our powers the way they are, neither of us got a good look before we got out of there. I’ll need to keep Supergirl and myself here for now, but I think the both of us could use a working set of eyes here to help run a few tests and get a handle on what actually happened. Is Diana there?”

“No, she’s all tied up right now, no pun intended. Almost everyone is, just from looking at the logs. Hardly anyone is here in the Tower. You really picked a good day to go haywire.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time someone wants to shoot me in the face with a Kryptonian weapon.”

“You think it’s Kryptonian?”

“That’s my best guess. We don’t have much to go on, but what else would Zod use that could have the power to do this to us?”

“Hm,” Barry hummed, followed by the sounds of typing. “You mind letting Palmer into your secret lair?”

“It’s not a secret lair, Barry.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll give him a call and see if he can spare a few minutes for our fearless leader. He’s still over in Starling City, but I think Oliver can deal with the loss for a day.”

Clark sighed, giving a thumb’s up to what he hoped was the direction of the camera. “Thanks Barry. I’ll keep a lookout for him.”

Barry snorted at the unintentional oxymoron. “Hopefully not literally, we do still need the good doctor now and then, you know.”

“Hilarious,” Clark deadpanned. “Superman, out.”

\----

As it turned out, Clark didn’t have to wait very long for help to arrive. Not much over two hours later, the fortress alerted him as an incoming plane entered the airspace and then the underwater tunnel. He knew even before the computer declared the aircraft that it was the Batwing. The sound of the engine and the motors switching to account for water were unmistakable, not to mention how quickly they shifted. He let himself imagine it was only Dick for a split second, before remembering he was never that lucky.

The Batwing meant Batman was here.

_Bruce._

“What are you doing here, Batman?” Clark asked, using every ounce of his restraint to keep his voice level as he felt Bruce enter the room. He’d be damned before he let Bruce see him broken both ways, emotionally and otherwise.

“I was the only one available.” Adding insult to injury, Bruce’s heart rate was as steady as ever.

Clark didn’t believe that lie, even for a second. But he couldn’t understand _why_ Bruce had chosen to show up _._ He frowned, his eyes shut as tightly as possible. “See to Kara.”

“She was asleep on the chair as I came in. Forgive me if I don’t want to wake her up just to get shot in the face by her unchecked heat vision.”

Clark heard Bruce move around the room, opening something on his belt and coming slowly over to Clark, as if Clark was some kind of wild animal he was trying not to spook.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Clark said, steeling himself. He held out his arm, allowing Bruce to tie the tourniquet above his elbow and look for a vein. Bruce was methodical: not one movement was enough to allow any accidental touching, no skin brushing against skin, the only contact was precise and clinical.

That lack of it ached far more than actual touching might have, not that Clark thought for one second Bruce had come here without his suit. Bruce used the mask as a barrier, and Clark certainly represented something worth hiding from, if the past weeks were anything to go by. Not that he could really judge, seeing how Clark had hidden himself away, too.

It was easier, not having to look Bruce in the eye. At least there was that.

Bruce was all but silent as he worked; taking blood samples, and checking Clark’s reflexes (minus eye sight, naturally). Clark could hear the steady thrum of Bruce’s pulse, and it relaxed him. It shouldn’t have – it went beyond reason for something like that to be so calming – but it was, and Clark found that he had missed it more than he’d realized.

After a few more minutes of Bruce typing away at Clark’s computer, Clark leaned back on the metal bed. A million thoughts ran through his head, and all of them were Bruce. All of them stung, too. Clark focused on evening out his heart rate, trying futilely to calm down his endless stream of thoughts.

Bruce was _here_. Less than twenty feet away.

Had it really been a month since Clark had seen him? Clark always lost track of time when he was in the Fortress, unless someone needed him. Bruce had certainly not needed him and had made that fact abundantly clear. Yet, here he was. Helping.

They were sitting together in the same room together for the first time in what felt like forever. At the last few League meetings, Bruce had chosen to attend remotely through the comm. system instead of coming in himself. The silence filling the room now was anything but comfortable. He could practically _hear_ Bruce thinking, and had to stop himself more than once from outright asking the man what was on his mind. Clark knew what was on his mind: how horribly uncomfortable this whole situation was.

He was nothing more than a nuisance to Bruce. He’d only ever been an impulse.

But that fact hadn’t changed anything on Clark’s part. How could it?

They had fought before this: they’d had fights much worse than that night in Bruce’s room, some had even led to all out brawls in their early days, but it was different this time. They’d been _together_ this time. And now, they weren’t much of anything.

The loss of Bruce in his life felt like a hole had been punched straight through him, worse still because it had been voluntary on both sides, not some cruel twist of fate. Bruce _wanted_ it this way. Maybe not exactly this way, they had been good friends once, after all. But he had wanted Clark out of his personal life, his _romantic_ life, without a doubt.

That had never been the way Clark’s mind worked. It stubbornly refused to give up on the inane hope, the feelings he couldn’t shake, even now. Even though Bruce had used him and manipulated him down to the very last moment. Even though Clark had always been the one to concede, had always been the one to voice his feelings and put himself out there, whereas Bruce hadn’t given anything more than the bare minimum. And the physical, of course, but physicality had never been a problem between them.

Despite how much it hurt, Clark couldn’t cut his emotions off. Not the way Bruce could.

Bruce was within arm’s reach, and no walls Clark could ever build up would be enough to hold back his own heart from that.

He felt it the moment Bruce stood and walked over, stopping five feet from where Clark lay. It was impossible not to, with the way his powers were heightened (never mind how attuned to Bruce he had become). Clark could tell there was something Bruce wanted to say, but he would rather die right there rather than listen to whatever it was.

That wasn’t enough to erase the little spark of curiosity, though, as foolish as it was.

“Clark…”

It was almost too much to handle, hearing his name coming out of those lips like that. As if Bruce was unsure. As if there was something he wanted, needed, to say. Hope burned down Clark’s throat, and he tossed an arm casually over his eyes, only partially as a precautionary measure.

“What did my blood results tell you?” Clark asked, saving them both from the gravity of the moment.

“Your cells are abnormally active, even by your Kryptonian biology standards. Whatever Zod did, it doesn’t seem to be wearing off quickly.”

There was a crash from somewhere in the fortress, then Kara was standing in the archway after having knocked her shoulder hard against the wall, running too fast. “The door to the refrigerator needs replacing.” She sounded infuriated. Clark bit back a grin, imagining the look on her face.

“At least the walls sound intact,” Clark offered.

She groaned, not amused by Clark’s attempt at levity. “It’s Batman that’s here, isn’t it? Batman, have you fixed this yet?”

“No,” Bruce told her shortly. “We’re working on it.”

“ _Working on it_?” She groaned again, sounding more exasperated. “Clark, I had a date tonight, I can’t go with my eyes closed, moving around with only my hearing to guide me like some kind of bat! No offense. Batman.”

Batman grunted and Clark almost smiled, it felt so familiar. “I’m sorry, Kara, really,” he placated. “Give me a minute and we can try that breathing technique again, see if it helps you any.”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, by all means, take your time!” With that she left, stomping her way through the hall.

“She’s certainly gotten a handle on sarcasm,” Bruce deadpanned.

Clark laughed a little, the sound rough in his throat, and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Yeah, yeah she has. Quicker than Diana did, too. Apparently stubborn streaks run in the El family.”

Bruce said nothing, and Clark almost opened his eyes to look at him in the awkward silence.

“You can go now, you know, I should get to work with trying to help Kara gain some control back, and hopefully help myself in the process.” He sighed. “Seriously, you don’t need to stick around. We’ll figure it out.”

As he stood up, making his way to the door with one hand brushing against the wall for guidance, Bruce’s hand on his arm stopped him suddenly. Clark froze. The whole world felt quiet for a moment, but he didn’t dare speak until Bruce did.

\----

BRUCE

He had no idea what he was doing.

Why the hell was he stopping Clark? The man was visibly uncomfortable. Understandably so. Bruce should _not_ have come, that much was glaringly obvious. Yet, when he had overheard Barry right after taking over monitor duty saying, “ _Supes_ ” and, “ _How big a problem_?”, he had been standing behind the speedster in an instant.

Clark hadn’t seen him then, but he had undoubtedly known Bruce was listening, no thanks to Barry.

Clark _still_ hadn’t seen him, in fact, because of his out-of-control powers, which was both a blessing and a curse. Every time he looked at Clark, he felt his throat contract and his fists clench involuntarily. Clark looked…Bruce didn’t know how to describe the various expressions passing over Clark’s face. They were guarded, cautious, and agitated for certain, but there was pain there, too. Maybe. Bruce couldn’t tell if it was merely an after-effect of the attack from Non and Zod, or an effect of being near Bruce himself. That Clark had his eyes tightly shut wasn’t helping Bruce’s facial reading abilities.

And it wasn’t as if he could just _ask_. He’d lost that privilege weeks ago – the right to ask how Clark was feeling. Not that Bruce had done that as often as he should have done _before_ he’d forced their relationship to implode. And he was so close so ending the case he could feel it in his bones, he had answers, knew he was being manipulated, but all of it would be for nothing if he couldn’t finish it.

Yet right now, Clark was standing before him, waiting for something. Right. Bruce still had his hand clamped down hard on Clark’s arm. He should do something about that.

“Clark,” he started, not really knowing what he had been about to say, just knowing he hadn’t wanted Clark to leave. It was more than a bit late to be worried about that, but Bruce had done it anyway. Saying Clark’s name was easier the second time, at least.

Clark didn’t answer verbally; instead he inclined his head slightly, as if urging Bruce to go on. His eyes were still shut tight, an absurd number of winkles surrounding the corners of his eyes, and Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about the blue irises hided underneath. He felt the utter stillness of Clark through the small bit of contact, unmoving in a way that only he was capable of, inhuman that he was.

“Look at me.”

Clark scoffed. “Have you taken a look around, recently? I think the west wall is about one solid punch away from collapsing entirely after the last time I blinked at it. Opening my eyes isn’t a good idea if you’d like to keep your face…the way it is.”

It would have been impossible to _not_ notice the myriad of burn marks and lines of seared metal and cracked crystal surrounding them in the Fortress. “What were you going to show Kara?”

Clark paused and straightened, but he hadn’t removed Bruce’s hand, and Bruce was just masochistic enough to let it remain there a while longer. He wanted to remember how it felt to hold on after Clark was in control of himself enough to push him away.

“Breathing exercises,” Clark said finally. “Some calming techniques. A few things I tried to teach myself when I was first coming into my powers.”

“You seem calm enough now.”

“Do I?”

“Are you not?”

Clark shook his head and half turned away. “I can’t do this right now. I have to try to help Kara.”

“So then look at me.”

Clark looked exasperated, mouth popping open in an exaggerated sigh and one shoulder rolling back as he shook his head. “Do you _want_ a hole through your head?”

“Don’t be melodramatic.”

“Let go.”

“I will when you look at me.”

“ _Now_ who’s being dramatic?”

“Clark.”

“ _Bruce._ ”

Bruce let go at the sound of his name: it hit him as hard as a slap. That didn’t mean he was finished, though, far from it. “Look at me.”

Clark shoulders fell. “We aren’t doing this now.”

“Doing what, exactly? This is about you being in control of your powers.”

“It’s always about more than that, Bruce. Don’t belittle my intelligence, of all things. You’re the always the smartest one in the room, but that doesn’t make the rest of us idiots.”

“I never said that.”

“I think you’ve said more than enough.”

 _I didn’t mean it_ , is what Bruce wanted to say. _I didn’t mean any of it, Clark._ I’m _the idiot. I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me and for what?_ So that they could do their jobs. The jobs they should have been doing right now. So that Clark would be safe while he took care of the most immediate threat.

Clark had the trace of fifth dimension on him right now – Bruce had proven it when he’d quietly scanned for particles while he was taking a blood sample – he knew he had bigger things to focus on, and yet being so close to Clark made everything that much harder.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself back into professionalism. “Then go see to Kara.”

“After everything, you’re still ordering me around?”

Because he wanted to feel the knife twisting in his gut, and because right then, or maybe always, Bruce rather hated himself, he said, “That’s what I do best, isn’t it?”

“Haven’t been doing much of it lately, though, have you? What happened to leading the Justice League with me?”

Bruce blinked. That was unexpected. He had expected Clark to walk off in a huff without bringing up the problems between them. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve to. “Nothing has changed on that front.” It was everything else that had.

Clark rolled his head like he was trying to convey an eye roll. “You stopped showing up to the founder’s meetings.”

“I have a city to protect.” Not a lie.

“As do most of us, and yet somehow, we manage.”

“It’s not the same.” Also, not a lie. Bruce was on a roll with all the honesty, but Clark clearly wasn’t appreciative.

“All this time spent hiding from me and _this_ is when you choose to show yourself? What gives you the right? You’re only here right now because I can’t see you.”

“You could solve issue that right now by opening your eyes.”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to kill you!”

 _You walked out easily enough the first time, and have been doing it ever since_ , Bruce thought. But no. Clark was right, it was not the time or the place for this discussion. “I know you won’t kill me, Clark.”

Clark let out a sound of pure frustration and raked his hands though his hair. He almost looked the way he did just before he turned his back that night. The memory stung, but Bruce kept his face neutral, despite the fact Clark couldn’t see him.

“If I try it, will you leave?”

“It’ll be like I was never here.”

“I doubt that,” Clark argued with a cruel sort of laugh. This time, the venom didn’t quite look like it was directed toward Bruce.

“You think I’m lying?”

“It’s not like you haven’t lied before.”

Yes, he had. Clark just didn’t know which part of it all was a lie. It ached that Clark had believed him so easily that night and kept believing his lies. Maybe that was why Bruce couldn’t keep the bite from his words as he said, “Then go ahead and walk away. You’ve done _that_ before.”

It was the right thing to say, or the wrong thing, depending on how you looked at it. Bruce saw the moment his words hit Clark and watched the reaction and angry flush run across his face immediately after.

Clark opened his eyes, and Bruce didn’t so much as flinch. Clark was practically seething. “Don’t.”

“You started it. And look, it worked.”

Clark leaned away, talking a half step backwards as he did. His eyebrows pulled together, and his jaw set in a rigid line. “You got a reaction out of me on purpose. Again. Have I always been just some piece on a chess board for you to manipulate as you see fit? I can’t tell anymore if it’s always been this way – if you’ve always played with my emotions to get whatever reaction you want – or if it started after.”

He didn’t have to clarify what he meant by _after_ , Bruce could see his meaning in his eyes. Bruce clamped down on the rush of emotion he felt threatening to burst out of him. He steeled himself and cleared his face of it all in one breath and raised one eyebrow carefully. Let Clark think what he wanted. It was better that way than if he knew the truth. The truth would make him want to help, would only put him at an unnecessary risk.

The problem was that he clamped down one second too late to stop himself.

Bruce took a firm step into Clark’s space, chest out, staring directly into Clark’s eyes with a look that might have made a lesser man back away. Clark was never the lesser man. He stood right where he was and hardly so much as blinked. He wasn’t careful enough, however, to stop Bruce from noticing the quick intake of breath from his nose.

“Are we not professionals?” Bruce challenged.

“Professionals,” Clark repeated, deadpan.

“Do you have a problem with that word?”

“A _problem_?”

“Repeating everything I say is a fantastic method of conversation, really. Your communication skills are truly befitting a Daily Planet reporter.”

“Did you come here just to pick a fight with me? To make jabs about communication – _you_ , of all people? Go tell it to someone who cares to be lectured, Bruce, because I’m done here.”

“Oh, clearly,” Bruce said sarcastically, the words coming out more like a growl than he intended. “That’s why you’ve hardly moved an inch since opening your eyes.”

Clark lifted his hand, clenched his fist, then dropped it again. He bit down on his bottom lip, and Bruce’s eyes were drawn to it like a moth to flame – or a bug zapper – knowing full well the tantalizing light spelled painful death but feeling powerless to turn away. Clark didn’t miss the direction of Bruce’s glance, and his eyes narrowed even as the skin over his cheekbones reddened just that much more.

“I think you should leave,” Clark said, voice gravely with something Bruce couldn’t place. Didn’t _want_ to place.

“Is that an order?”

Clark practically growled out a groan of frustration. Though it was clearly not the same type of frustration Bruce was feeling, he couldn’t help but echo the sentiment.

Before he knew what was happening, the feel of Clark’s stubble scratching against his chin assaulted his senses. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that lasted a second, maybe two. One small moment where Bruce’s mind forgot what it was supposed to be doing, his body falling all too quickly into a routine it had been deprived of for so long. Where he remembered the hope that there could something, anything, left after all of this.

There was a moment so brief Bruce wasn’t sure it wasn’t just his overactivated imagination playing cruel tricks, where he felt the too-strong grip of Clark’s hand on his elbow before they pushed away from each other faster than a couple of caught-in-the-act teenagers.

Clark’s eyes were wide and vulnerable at he starred with a look of what Bruce assumed was horror. The swell of emotions that tried to shove its way straight up Bruce’s throat was more painful than the Clark-shaped bruise forming on his elbow. But Bruce was good, oh so good, at covering his tracks.

Bruce left his face entirely blank, cold, and devoid of anything he really felt, the way he knew Clark hated.

Clark only shook his head and let out a short breath through his nose. “I’m going to help Kara. Do whatever you want, Bruce, you always have.”

With that, he walked away. Out the doorway and out of sight. Again. Bruce was reminded that hope, no matter how brief, left a uniquely painful kind of hurt.

It was one more chink in Bruce’s armor, one more piece of himself chipped away, but maybe now Clark could be satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ meganmazing.tumblr.com ~

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: The tooth-rotting fluff in this chapter is not indicative of the tone of rest of this fic. 
> 
> It’s not the only fluff in the whole story, because I’m weak for these two and I can’t do 40k+ of pure sadness and pain, but…enjoy it while it lasts. And yep, Bruce did have an existential crisis immediately following sexytimes. These things happen (and/or Bruce has some issues, but those things happen, too).
> 
> This first chapter was also very heavy with Bruce's POV, but not all chapters will be that way.
> 
> And if someone could tell me if this seems more mature than explicit, I would appreciate it! I chose the E rating to be safe, but the rating system still confuses me here, and everyone does it a little differently?? Thanks in advance <3


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